


The Library Beneath the Clock Tower

by Eilinelithil



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - In Storybrooke | Cursed (Once Upon a Time), Bookshop On the Corner, Cursed Storybrooke (Once Upon a Time), Eventual Smut, F/M, slightly AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:00:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 48
Words: 94,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21947722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eilinelithil/pseuds/Eilinelithil
Summary: Storybrooke has no library, and neither does Belle, not since the library where she worked in Boston discovered her past as an inpatient at a mental hospital. Taking her future into her own hands, Belle travels to Storybrooke where her intention is to open up the town library, but all does not go according to her plan. Obstacles and false starts, and diversion along very wrong pathways interrupt her journey toward fulfilling her dream, as well as taking her rightful place and becoming a part of the Storybrooke community.Winner of the 2020 Espenson Award, Best Book AU.
Relationships: Belle/Gaston (Once Upon a Time), Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold
Comments: 615
Kudos: 140





	1. Not Quite According To Plan

**Author's Note:**

  * For [peacehopeandrats](https://archiveofourown.org/users/peacehopeandrats/gifts).



> Rumbelle comes in many shapes and sizes, and after I was harrassed until I read The Bookshop On the Corner: A Novel, by Jenny Colgan, I was perhaps innocent to the fact that it can happen outside of fan fiction too. If you haven't read the book, I would recommend it to you warmly, and challenge you /not/ to see Rumbelle in the telling of the tale. For that reason, this story renders the narrative arc of Colgan's book in Rumbelle form.
> 
> I wrote this story for @peacehopeandrats for a Christmas gift. I hope you all enjoy it too.

Belle wasn't sure whether she was disappointed, angry, hurt, upset, astounded, righteously indignant or  _ all _ of the above, as she left Mayor Mills' office, hurrying along to towards the diner she'd seen when she first arrived, rapidly brushing away rebellious tears as she did. Why was  _ everything  _ just going so wrong? 

It started when everything in her life had been looking up, for a change. She had been hospitalized for quite some time, she didn’t know how long, or what for. Though they told her it was for the effects of trauma. She couldn’t  _ remember _ anything like that happening, and as far as she could tell, if something bad had happened to her, well… she should be able to, but no. They told her that was how trauma worked. The mind shut down any and all avenues of remembrance. Didn’t matter that she’d had therapy once a week for as long as she  _ could _ remember, she simply couldn’t tell them what they wanted to know, to hear. So, they’d kept her locked up.

And then, one day, suddenly, they didn’t, and she had no idea about that either. She only knew it was a relief, not to be stuck in the same place, day in, day out, with nothing to do except to read.

Reading, and studying she was certain, kept her sane, and so when she ‘graduated’ from the asylum, as she had taken to calling her release from the hospital that was tucked away somewhere in a forgotten corner of Boston, and was asked if she had any idea what she wanted to  _ do  _ with her life, she had an answer.

“I want to be a librarian.”

It wasn’t going to happen overnight, not even with the credits she had already accrued from her studies at the hospital, she knew that, but she enjoyed the challenge of the study, as she enjoyed some aspects of being a part of a ‘real’ university. It was there, for instance, that she met the woman that it seemed was fated to become her best friend: Ruby.

Ruby was, for all intents and purposes, a strange dichotomy of a girl. On the one hand, she was as equally studious and dedicated to her work as was Belle, and in that respect made an excellent study partner even though their courses couldn’t have been more dissimilar. On the other hand, however, Ruby was the epitome of a party girl.

She was tall, and athletically built with long, dark hair in which she usually had some kind of red. Whether a bright red extension hairpiece, or a more subtle shade colored into her own hair, it was always there, like a part of her, a signature of sorts. Another signature that Ruby adopted was the length of her skirts. Undeniably short, and usually paired with a skimpy or revealing top, no matter where she was going, to work, to class, or out for an evening on the town - though that was generally where she was the most revealed of all - she was not afraid to be out and confident about her femininity.

Thinking about Ruby made her remember that she’d promised to call, and hadn’t. Not when she arrived, and certainly not since the mayor - arrogant fucking witch - had turned down her proposal almost without listening to it. Belle felt as though the woman had taken one look at her, and decided on the spot that she wasn’t going to have anything to do with her, and that included allowing her to open up the town’s small library again.

She dashed away a few more angry tears, and turned the corner without really looking where she was going.

The man she collided with wasn’t overly tall, perhaps only a few inches taller than she, but he was immaculately dressed in a black suit over a dark red shirt, and an even darker tie. He walked with a pronounced limp, a cane held in his right hand. At the collision, he took a measured step back, and raised both of his hands to catch hold of Belle’s upper arms, steadying her a little as she would have bounced off him.

“I am  _ so _ sorry,” she said immediately. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Well, that much is evident,” he answered, his barely accented voice dripping sarcasm.

Belle’s mood got the better of her, and she snapped back. “There’s no need to be so bloody condescending.” And then she realized he still had a hold of her arms, and had probably stopped her from falling, given that the shoes she was wearing weren’t exactly the most sensible. It made her feel somewhat contrite, and she felt as though she should thank him for that, so trying for a less irritated tone said, “And thank you, by the way.”

He tipped his head onto one side briefly, looking her up and down, before asking, “For what? My condescension, or for trying to act like a gentleman?”

She shook her head with a sigh, his words, his attitude, this… stranger, was doing nothing for her mood, or for her disappointment in the way the day had gone, and for the fact that in spite of finding Storybrooke quite to her liking, it didn’t at all seem to like  _ her. _ Though why that should bother her so much, she wasn’t sure.

“No answer?” he said, and she realized she hadn’t spoken in quite some time, as lost in her annoyance as she was. “Well then, you are most welcome,” he added, releasing her from his gentle, steadying grasp. “For whichever.” He moved aside, with slightly more than a nod of his head, and less than a bow, before bidding her, “Good day, Miss…”

She narrowed her eyes. Why on earth would he think that she’d give him her name, after he’d been so insufferably sarcastic, when he could have simply accepted her apology and moved on. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing after all that it didn’t seem as though Storybrook was going to work out if it was full of people like the mayor and this man.

And yet…

“Marchland,” she said, as she began to stride away, and before he could say anything more.

She found herself walking straight past the diner without stopping in as she had first intended. She wanted to find somewhere to calm the storm of irritation that was filling her, but not just that. It was coupled with a kind of fear. If she couldn’t find  _ something _ to do once her notice period with the library in Boston was complete, then how would she ever support herself? She had no family, and would have only the little income she would make working her second job in the bookstore in one of the quieter parts of the city. It wouldn’t be enough to support herself, not even with Ruby’s generous help.

The two young women had become roommates while they were both still studying, when Ruby asked Belle to move in with her, to help with expenses, and after graduation, they continued to share the small apartment that Ruby owned. Of late, however, the relationship between them had become somewhat strained - and all because of Belle’s books.

Working part time at the bookstore, the owners allowed Belle to bring home any second hand book that they did not believe they could resell. Her collection of books had started small, but over time had grown considerably, starting to fill up every available space in the apartment, and some that weren’t.

“I know, I know,” Belle often said to Ruby, “but it won’t be for long, I promise.”

“You said that last month,” Ruby would reply, “and the month before that.”

That was how the arguments began, and why Belle now felt her belly turning circles as she sat down on the bench in the park, turning her phone over and over in her hands. She was  _ certain _ that it would work out here. The name alone gave her the promise of that. She was sure that she would open the library, and add to it with the books she had collected over the course of the last year. Now she felt as though she were letting Ruby down, somehow.

With a sigh, she hit the speed dial on the phone and listened to it ring, though not for long. It was almost as if Ruby were waiting for her call.

“ _ How did it go? _ ” she asked, and Belle didn’t miss the eager tone in Ruby’s voice.

“Not good, I’m afraid,” she said with a sigh, “The mayor… well… she wasn’t into the idea of the old library being reopened I guess. She pretty much said a flat out no.”

“ _ Pretty much? _ ” Ruby asked.

“Well, all right,” Belle confessed with a sigh, “The minute I walked into her office, she said no.”

“ _ Just like that? _ ”

“Yes. Just like that.” Belle felt her lower lip wobble a little bit, as she asked, “You don’t think…” 

“ _ Belle, honey, _ ” Ruby said after a moment, “ _ You have to stop thinking that just because the idiots in Boston decided to let you go because of your hospital stay, _ ” Belle winced at Ruby’s attempt to be subtle, “ _ that it’s going to be the same with everyone. _ ”

“Then explain to me why Mayor Mills said a flat out ‘no’ the minute she saw my face and read my name on the letter I’d sent to her.” Belle’s voice held an edge.

Ruby sighed. “ _ I can’t. _ ”

Belle sighed too, and said, “I know I promised I was going to get all of those books out of your hair, but until I find a place--”

“ _ Don’t worry about that now, _ ” Ruby told her, “ _ If that place really  _ is  _ a bust, then come home. We’ll figure something out, but Belle…? _ ”

“Hmm?” Belle said absently, starting to feel a chill in the air as the day marched on towards evening.

“ _ I know your dream is to run a little place, where everything can be personal and you feel as if you matter, but… _ ” Belle heard her swallow a little before she finished, “ _ maybe it’s just not the right time. _ ”

“I’ll see,” Belle said, feeling the worry and the anger just seeping away into something like tiredness. “The next bus isn’t until tomorrow though, so whatever, I’m stuck here overnight. I’ll have to see about getting a room at the bed and breakfast here… Granny’s or something it’s called.”

“ _ Seriously _ ?” Belle could hear Ruby’s raised eyebrow even through the phone,  _ “Just where  _ is _ this Storybrooke of yours. _ ”

“Maine, I told you,” Belle said. “And it’s not mine. If it were, I’d damn well open a library myself and  _ damn _ the mayor.”

“ _ All right, _ ” Ruby said, “ _ Just call me to let me know you’re settled and safe. _ ”

“I will,” she promised, but her mind was already racing around the words she’s just spoken to Ruby. What  _ if _ she could find some way to open a library here by herself. Maybe a mobile library, if the town wouldn’t even let her  _ rent  _ the building. Surely they couldn’t object to that. She smiled, feeling happier than she had since her meeting with the mayor; feeling a sense of hope, if not confident determinations. To Ruby she said, “I’ll let you know what’s going on; call you before bed.”

The two women exchanged pleasantries before each hanging up, and Belle pulled her coat more tightly around her, and then began to make her way back toward the center of town, where she would enquire at Granny’s as to the availability of a room - at least for the night - and perhaps, if things went well, longer.

Several minutes later, she pushed open the door of the diner, allowing the warmth to envelop her and chase away the chill. The establishment was fairly full, and the mix of patrons was encouraging to Belle, as she let her thoughts again draw her back to the possibility of serving the people of this town as their librarian.

One of those patrons looked over to where she was standing. He was a stoutly built man, with a full, graying beard and a stern expression, but when he saw her, his eyes flashed what looked like amusement, perhaps even admiration and he called out to her, “Right on, Sister!”

She frowned in confusion, but he had already turned his attention back to his companions, men of a similar age and build, who were all now leaning conspiratorially toward one another, as the man who’d spoken seemed to be telling some kind of tale. She caught only snatches of the conversation, and heard words like, “gold” and “medicine” and she couldn’t help but wonder what it was they were saying.

“What can I get you?”

A stern, but kindly voice, which, as she turned and looked at the own of said voice, she could see matched the elderly lady entirely, interrupted her musings, and Belle offered a smile, and said, “I… am looking for the proprietor of the Bed and Breakfast.”

“Well,” the woman folded her arms, “You’ve found her. I’m Granny, at least that’s what most folks around here call me.”

“Wonderful,” Belle beamed, and Granny raised an eyebrow. “Then would it be possible for me to get a room? And perhaps also something to eat.”

The stern quality of Granny’s face left it, and her expression softened, and for no reason that she could explain, Belle found herself thinking of Ruby.

“Find yourself a seat, and I’ll have one of the girls take your order,” Granny said, “We can see to the room once you’ve warmed yourself, and have some good food inside you. We don’t get many visitors to Storybrooke, so we'd best look after the ones we  _ do _ get.”

“Oh, please, you don’t have to go to any trouble on my account,” Belle said, and Granny tsked and shook her head, as if she had just said the most ridiculous thing in the world. As Granny started to turn away, Belle said, “One more thing, do you know if there’s anyone in town that might know of any vehicles for sale? Something a little bit larger than a car though, really, more like a van or something.”

Granny’s face creased in thought. “Can’t say that I do,” she said, “But you might try Michael over at Marine Garage. If anyone would know, he would.”

“Thank you,” Belle said, and Granny nodded, leaving Belle to make her way to a booth in the corner of the diner, where he could lose herself in her daydreams, and in her book while she waited for her order to be taken and the food to come.

As she sat down, she noticed that someone had left a newspaper on the seat,  _ The Storybrooke Mirror _ . Belle picked it up, and skimmed her eyes across the front page, reading headlines and bylines typical of a small town rag. On a hunch, she turned to the classified section of the paper, letting her eyes run over the various listings of items for sale, employment vacancies, and the few - very few - properties for rent… but then, nestled in the middle of a crowded column, as if trying to hide itself in plain sight a short, three-line ad caught her attention.

“Van for Sale,” it began. “Good condition, reasonable price for quick sale.” and on the last line, the name and telephone number of the contact, a Mister Moe French. She felt herself frown again, unable to shake the sense of coincidence that just when she was thinking of such a thing, she should find a classified listing for exactly what she wanted.

One of Granny’s girls arrived at her side ready to take her order, and Belle realized that she’d spent so much time looking at the newspaper that she hadn’t even looked at the menu.

“Oh, I er… sorry,” she said, “Got sidetracked.”

“Maybe I can get you something to drink while you decide,” the young lady said with a smile.

“Actually, that would be great.” Belle answered. “Maybe some tea?” and then added, “And… can you tell me who this is?” She held up the paper, and the girl peered at the ad beside her finger.

“Moe French,” she said with a shrug, “Runs the florist shop, Game of Thorns.”

“Thank you,” Belle said, and carefully folded the newspaper so that she could see the ad staring up at her as she picked up the menu to decide on something to eat. She also decided then and there that first thing in the morning, she would call Mister French and find out the full details of the van he wanted to sell.


	2. Hopes and Dreams

Belle woke surprisingly well rested in spite of having slept in a strange bed. Her promise to herself the evening before was almost the first thing she thought of as she rose and prepared herself for the day.

At breakfast, she got directions to the florists shop from Granny, who gave her a somewhat dubious look when she tried to explain her plans. The man from the day before - the one that had congratulated her for… well, whatever it was he thought warranted congratulations, was also in the diner.

His name was Leroy, as she discovered when he interrupted her explanation to Granny to announce, “It’s about time we had a library again!”

“Oh?” she said turning to him, and offering a smile, watching as he blushed, just a little. “Do you like to read, Mister…?”

“Call me Leroy,” he said, then added, “Don’t really get much time, Sister. Hospital keeps me way too busy, but still, there are folks in this town that’d be happy to have one.”

“Well,” Belle offered another smile, in spite of his gruff and grumpy persona, she found herself warming to the man. “I’m glad for your vote of confidence”

“If I can ask,” Leroy said, “Why a van? Why a mobile library?” Belle shrugged a little, “They mayor didn’t seem all that keen on reopening the town’s public library,” she said, “but I’m not willing to give up yet, so I thought… maybe I could open a private library, mobile. I have the books, all I need is…”

“The van,” Leroy finished.

“Looks like someone’s saved you a walk,” Granny said as the door to the diner opened, and nodded toward the man in the doorway. He was tall, and portly, his brown hair was graying, and receding considerably. The jowls on his face lent him the look of someone with a permanently downturned expression, and for the first time, Belle found herself wondering why the words, “for a quick sale,” had appeared in the ad.

“Hey, Moe!” Granny called sharply. “Someone here for you.”

Moe French looked confused, Belle thought, but believing there was no time like the present, she slipped off her stool by the counter, and quickly approached, holding out her hand.

“Hi,” she said brightly, looking up at him and feeling a strange sense of deja vu. She pushed it away and continued, “I’m Belle. Belle Marchland. I uh… saw your ad? In the paper?”

Moe continued to look at her nonplussed, as if she were speaking a foreign language.

“The Mirror?” she said, hoping that continuing to talk at him might somehow jog his memory. He still didn’t appear to understand.

“She’s here about the van,” Leroy cut in adding more softly, almost under his breath, “moron.”

“Oh,” Moe seemed to snap out of whatever stupor he was in and repeated, “The van… right.”

“I was wondering if I might see it,” Belle said, “Take it for a test drive?”

“A test drive,” Moe repeated, not quite a question, and then said, “Well, I don’t know, see… I hadn’t imagined a girl, and--”

“Girl?” Belle echoed the word like the sound of a mouse trap snapping shut. “Well, pardon me, Mister French, but I think you’ll find I’m somewhat more than just a ‘girl’.” She huffed a little and out of the corner of her eye saw Leroy smirk. “Are you suggesting, perhaps, that I can’t handle it?”

“Well,” Moe said, drawing out the word a bit, as if trying to figure out how to get out of the mess he’d gotten himself into. “I just… I don’t think it would be a good idea. It can be a bit temperamental sometimes, and the steering… I just don’t think you should.”

“I see,” Belle said curtly, “I thank you for your advice, Mister French, but no one decides my fate but me.” She set her hands on her hips and added, “So, is this van of yours for sale, or isn’t it?”

Moe appeared to consider the question for quite some time, before he sighed, and finally pulled off the flat cap he wore on his head, and twisted it a little in his hands. “Oh, all right,” he told her. “But I think you’d better come out to the shop, rather than me bringing it here. I don’t think it would be a good idea to start out from the center of town.”

“Fine,” Belle said. “Shall we say… two o’clock?”

She figured that would give her plenty of time to check out some of the other things, and the other places in this little town. It would mean she’d have to stay over another night, but if she were honest with herself, she was maybe looking for excuses. Something about the town made her feel at home, at peace. She would call Ruby and let her know, but not until she’d had a look around.

“Two o’clock’s fine,” Moe French said, “You know where to find me.”

“Granny already gave her directions, “Leroy said, then added, “And you better be there, French… maybe I’ll just come with her.”

“Oh, really,” Belle stammered a little, “That won’t be necessary.”

“It’s not for you I worry, Sister,” Leroy said. “It’s him. He’s been known to be… less than honest at times.”

“Hey!” Moe protested, but didn’t say more than that, and Belle suspected that Leroy had just touched a nerve.

“I’ll… come by at two,” she reminded Moe, as if he’d agreed to the deal. “A test drive shouldn’t take long, and then if it’s all right, and all works, then I think perhaps we might have a deal.

Leroy snorted into his morning coffee, and Moe looked suddenly stricken, leaving Belle to wonder what on earth she’d said wrong.

The more she wandered around Storybrooke, the more she fell in love with it, the more she felt at home, and the further she drew from believing she could be happier in any other place. Approaching two, Belle found herself calling in to the general store, a tiny, almost quaint little place; the kind of place she’d read about in books set in England, where corner stores were the go to place for groceries in the days before large stores existed.

“Can I help you?”

The accented voice startled Belle somewhat as she had been perusing the array of snack foods available, and hadn’t expected to see anyone until she approached the counter at the far end of the shop. She looked up to find a young woman in a modest blue dress beneath a shock of unruly red hair looking over at her expectantly.

“I was just trying to decide on a snack,” Belle said, offering a smile, and adding, “I’m sorry. You startled me.”

“Then surely I’m the one should be sorry,” the young woman said.

“No, it’s all right,” Belle said, “Just a little bit jumpy. I’m about to go do something I’ve never done before, and I don’t want to make a fool of myself.”

“It’s important then?” The woman came from behind the counter and approached where Belle was still looking in bemusement at the snacks. She reached out and plucked a hearty looking bread-like confection, clearly homemade, from its space on the shelf and handed it to Belle. “Try this,” she suggested, “That’ll put hairs on your chest… so to speak. Name’s Maggie, by the way.”

“Belle,” Belle answered somewhat bemusedly, and holding up the food item, began to ask, “What…?”

She turned it over in her hand, but even through the packaging she could smell the delicious scent of doughy bread mingled with a fruity undernote.

“A Bannock… with dried fruit and honey,” Maggie told her. “I can warm it for you, if you’d like?”

“No,” Belle smiled, “Thank you. I think it’ll be just fine like this. It sounds delicious; smells it too.”

“Made it myself.” Maggie led the way back toward the counter, and Belle followed her, “Where I come from, you’d be hard pressed to find a place without them.”

“And where are you from?” Belle asked, reaching into her purse for some money to pay for her purchase.

“A wee town in Scotland,” The red-head sighed almost wistfully. “I doubt you’ll have heard of it. DunBroch.”

Belle shook her head apologetically, and Maggie smiled.

“No matter,” she said, then as the two of them completed the transaction for the bannock, asked, “So, this, ‘important thing’ you’re about to do, wouldn’t have anything to do with that van Moe French has been trying to be rid of?”

“Yes, actually,” Belle said, “It would exactly.”

Maggie looked concerned. “Watch yourself, eh?” she said, “He’s a wee bit bent that one.”

Belle assumed she understood the meaning just fine, between the warnings she received from both Leroy and now Maggie, but then it occurred to her to ask, “How did you know, anyway?”

“Och,” Maggie chuckled, “Word travels quickly in this little town. Never you mind.” She reached out and patted Belle’s shoulder almost companionably, “You go and show him how it’s done, right?”

“Right,” Belle answered with a grin, leaving the store to head off to Game of Thorns, and to the test drive that would hopefully seal her future in Storybrooke.


	3. Ending Before It Began

Bolstered in both confidence and determination by Maggie’s bannock, Belle took the short walk to Game of Thorns. There was a white van parked outside, and the back was open, presumably for the loading or unloading of flowers and potted plants. Belle, therefore, took the opportunity to peer inside, and to use her imagination to picture the interior of the van with shelves all around, full to bursting with books and with a small circulation desk where the passenger seat was currently. It would be quite the refit, but it would be worth it to see the faces of the residents of Storybrooke as they began enjoying a library again.

She ran her fingers over the floor of the van, the wood was damp, and somewhat grubby. That would need a good clean, and… perhaps even some carpet, and maybe a few bean bag chairs to encourage people to stay and read.

She was so lost in her daydreaming, that she didn’t hear the footsteps approaching, so when the voice sounded behind her, it made her jump.

“Can I help you?”

She spun around and found herself face to face with the florist, Moe French, and as she tried to get her startled breathing under control, she offered him a smile. 

“Belle Marchland, remember?” she said softly, “We arranged for me to take the van… a test drive?”

She watched him frown, and the same reluctance that she’d seen in him earlier, resurfaced, but stronger somehow. She saw a flash in his eye that almost spoke of the wrongness of allowing this to go any further.

“A test drive, right,” he repeated at last, “I remember, yes. Only… I had a sudden order come in, a large one and I’ll need the van to make the delivery, so… it may not be possible, and--”

She frowned deeply.

“Is this that same rot you were spouting earlier… worrying that I”m a ‘girl’?” she accused. “I can assure you, I’m more than capable.”

“I’m sure you are,” Moe French’s voice was not without a hint of doubt, but he ploughed on before she could open her mouth to protest again. “And anyway, it’s not about that. I told you, I need the van for deliveries.”

“It’s not as though I’m going to take all day, Mister French,” she said to him, “A quick spin around the block, just to see how it runs, and we’ll be done.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Miss Marchland,” Moe said, glancing around, as if looking for something, or checking that they weren’t being watched. Belle’s hackles rose a little as she started to believe what Leroy and Maggie had warned her about - that there was definitely something ‘not quite right’ about this man’s intentions.

After another moment or two, Moe finally relinquished the keys and began walking with her to the driver’s door, listing the short catalogue of things to watch out for. It certainly seemed like the van had… personality.

She climbed up into the cab, and as best she could, adjusted the seat to accommodate her short legs, and being very careful to adjust the mirrors so that she could see all around her. The last thing she wanted was to crash into something on her test drive. That would create a very poor impression after all.

As per Moe’s instructions, Belle pumped the gas twice and then turned the key, listening to the engine cranking before it caught and not-quite-roared into life. _A tune up_ _then,_ she thought to herself, and then gradually, almost gingerly pulled out onto the quiet streets of Storybrooke.

At first, she kept her speed down, since she was unsure of the brakes and how well they’d function, but after a stop sign or two she discovered they were more than adequately to the task of stopping the vehicle. After that, she drove pretty much as she would have done normally. It wasn’t so different driving a van after all, no matter its size. The steering was a little heavier on one side than the other, and she figured that Mister French didn’t get much of a chance between deliveries to have the van serviced all that often. That would definitely have to be her priority… when she bought the vehicle.

All too soon, having thoroughly enjoyed the ride, she was pulling up in front of Game of Thorns, having made up her mind. She wanted to buy the van. Climbing down, her cheeks flushed with exhilaration, she made her way toward the shop door, intending to go inside and find Moe French and make him an offer. As it happened, she didn’t need to. He must have seen her arrival and hurried out of the door to meet her, his expression… stricken.

“Mister French,” she began almost beaming with happy excitement, “It’s perfect, absolutely perfect. I would be…”

Moe French held up a hand in a kind of ‘wait a minute’ gesture, and began to walk a little way away, but in full flight as she was, Belle was not to be deterred. She hurried around to put herself directly in his path and his line of sight again, as she continued, as though he hadn’t just completely blanked her.

“I would be happy to take it off your hands,” she continued, oblivious, and as before, not hearing the ambient sounds around her. “Provided the price isn’t too steep. Then I can--”

“What the hell is this?” The voice that came from behind her this time was also one she remembered, and belonged to the man with whom she had collided the previous day. She turned and stepped aside from between that man and Moe French.

As before, the newcomer was immaculately dressed, this time in a black suit with a midnight blue shirt, and a tie that was darker still, and was inlaid with a patterned texture. In one hand he held his cane, and tucked under the arm of the other was a large manilla file folder, since his hand held a folded up newspaper.

“Gold,” Moe stammered, “I can explain.”

“Oh, I was hoping you’d say that,” said the man, whom she had now learned was called Gold. “Because from where I stand, and from what I read,” he took a step forward and slapped the newspaper against the middle of Moe’s chest, completely unconcerned, or so it seemed, by the man’s additional height and bulk, “it would appear you are trying to sell  _ my _ van.”

“ _ Your _ van?” Belle sang out in confusion, but was ignored.

“Not the van, Gold, no,” Moe stammered, “Just...just…”

Belle’s heart sank as she listened in on the conversation and heard, it would seem, that either Moe was lying to this  _ Mister  _ Gold, or he was lying to her and never intended to sell her the van in the first place.

“Just…?” Gold prompted.

“Just the loan,” Moe spluttered finally. “I thought that if I could find someone willing to take over the loan, it wouldn’t fall so far behind and…” he trailed off and Belle found herself looking from one man to the other, her anger and bitterness rising again, to think she had been so easily played… well… almost.

“I don’t know whether to be flattered or insulted, Mister French,” Gold drawled in the same condescending tone he had used while talking to her, and she bristled again, though without much fire. Her disappointment accounted for most of that.

Gold turned, just a little then, enough to include her in the conversation, such as it was. “Well, Miss Marchland, it seems I must apologize on behalf of our  _ friend _ here. It appears he has no integrity.” He turned and gave Moe a terrible glare, before he added, “I’m truly sorry you got caught up in all of this.”

“No need for  _ you _ to apologize, Mister Gold,” Belle said, “At least I found out  _ before _ we made any kind of transaction. Other than a test drive of course.”

Then, feeling the need to show her  _ own _ integrity, and having gleaned from the conversation that French had attempted to resell his own debt in order that he could avoid repossession of said van, she reached out with the keys that were still in her hands, and gave them to Mister Gold.

“You have my thanks, Miss Marchland,” Gold said, nodding to her, “But now, if you will excuse us, it would seem that Mister French and I have some business to attend to.”

“Of course,” Belle said curtly, and without another word to Moe French, turned away and began to head back toward the diner. She was seething inside, and wanted nothing more than to leave this wretched town, and get back to Boston, before she lost the chance altogether, to find a new job in time to be able to support herself.

That, however, would have to wait until morning, as the bus out of Storybrooke had long since left that day, and as she walked into the diner, she caught sight of Leroy looking almost expectantly in her direction.

When he saw the expression on her face he instructed, “Whatever the lady wants, it’s on me.”


	4. The Mountain and the Timber Wolf

The journey back to Boston from Storybrooke had left her, not determined, but despondent. It was a long bus journey, and she couldn’t even read her book because, on opening her bag, she discovered she had left it at the diner. It did give her a small moment of a lighter heart as she thought on the irony of that, since she’d wanted to open a library there after all, and she wondered if anyone would read it.

With nothing to pass the time, all she thought about was how stupid she had been to allow herself to be almost duped by that jowley swindler of a man. She couldn’t imagine how anyone would want to buy flowers for special occasions from a man that was as obviously shifty as he was. At least, obvious to everyone else, she chastised herself. Maybe that was why he was behind in his loan payments: because everyone knew the kind of man he was. Still, she hadn’t seen any other florists in Storybrooke - hadn’t seen very much except one of everything, a real backwater town, which for a place with a dock as it was, seemed a little odd to her. Then again she supposed the bigger towns, with larger quays probably made Storybrooke’s dockside obsolete.

She grumbled at herself. There she went speculating again, trying to give herself a reason to turn around and go back. It was as though she were a fish, and Storybrooke had gotten its hooks into her. She even kept taking out her phone and looking at it, in case the garage owner, who’d promised to keep his eyes open for anything that might fit the bill for a mobile library, had left a message for her. There was nothing.

She sighed again, and finally closed her eyes. With nothing to do besides fret and worry, it would probably be better if she just tried to sleep the journey away. That wasn’t very successful either, so when the bus finally pulled into the Peter Pan Bus Terminal in Boston’s South Station, she was tired, disappointed, irritable and just plain ready to be home. Except it wouldn’t be her home much longer if she didn’t get her act together and try and find a place for all the books she’d gathered together in the hopes of beginning her own library. Ruby had given her a few months to look for a way to fulfil her dream, but that time was rapidly running out.

When Ruby got home from work later that evening, Belle was sitting at the kitchen table, still staring, purposeless, into an almost stone cold cup of tea.

“I take it it didn’t go well then?” Ruby asked as she slipped into the chair opposite Belle and replaced the cold cup with a hot one and then tipped her head to one side. “Even with the extra day?”

Belle seemed to awaken and looked over at Ruby.

“He tried to swindle me!” she announced without preamble.

“He did?” Ruby frowned at her and Belle wasn’t sure if her friend was following at all.

“Yeah, the man… the florist, with the van I told you about?” When Ruby nodded she continued, “Well he wasn’t looking to sell the van at all. Seems like he had fallen behind on his loan payments for the damn thing and was trying to sell the loan, so that he could keep the van and just…” she growled softly, “Ugh! I almost fell for it. It was a lovely van as well,” she said, “would have been perfect. Instead…”

“Instead, you did the sensible thing before stuff got out of hand and you lost any actual money,” Ruby interrupted, putting the matter sensibly and logically to Belle.

Belle sighed, “I know,” she conceded at last. “But what will I do, Ruby? There are no jobs here, and I can’t keep living off of you. I have to find something.”

“And you will, I know it.” Ruby reassured her, “You’re a smart woman, with a good degree. Something will come up.”

That was probably the moment Belle’s temper snapped.

“Well, much as I love your ‘glass-half-full’ sunny as hell attitude,” she scraped her chair leg against the floor as she stood up, raising her voice and grabbing her overnight bag from where it sat at the side of the kitchen. “I don’t share it. Storybrooke was my last resort. My last ditch attempt to not only find a way to actually support myself, but to do it in some kind of work that would make me feel wanted, maybe me feel  _ needed _ , and that would actually  _ satisfy _ me, not some… some… some…”

Ruby stood up too, and it seemed that Belle’s mood was contagious because she picked up where Belle left off, “Some dead end, nine to six or seven job that I hate with every ounce of my being but which pays our rent? Is that what you’re driving at?”

“Yes!” Belle snapped and then immediately, “No!... I mean… Ruby, no I just… I didn’t mean it like that I…”

“Yes you did,” Ruby countered. “Yes, you did, and I don’t  _ blame _ you for wanting better after all that’s happened to you, but Belle, sometimes you just have to swallow it, like the bitter pill of BS that it is, and just… head down and do what you have to. They offered to transfer you to the stacks down-town, rather than just… let you go out of hand, and  _ you _ were the one that poo-pooed that notion.”

“Because being a librarian isn’t  _ just _ about the books,” Belle felt like screaming at Ruby. Why couldn’t she understand? “It’s about the people too, and I wouldn’t come into any contact with anyone down there - and that was their point - they found out I’d been in a mental hospital, and they didn’t trust me with people.”

“Well maybe they were right not to!” Ruby snapped, “You haven’t exactly been the world’s most compassionate and understanding person just now have you? And with all these books you keep bringing home, what’s the difference anyway?”

Belle gaped at Ruby. How could she say that… and mean it? How could she compare saving old books that still had a good deal of life in them to working in some dusty basement archiving books that statistics said no one wanted to read any more, until they could be legitimately consigned to the literary scrap heap. How dare she!

Without another word, Belle stormed off, taking the stairs of the apartment almost two at a time, her bag slung carelessly over her shoulder as she went, and on reaching her room, threw open the door with such force that it swung all the way back and rattled the dividing wall between her room and the landing.

Unfortunately, standing against that was was a rather precariously stacked tower of mixed hardback and paperback books that wibbled, and wobbled and finally passed beyond its fulcrum, and slid, as gracefully as a dame fainting, across the landing, wherein the uppermost book nudged the bottom of an equally poorly stacked pile of books.

Belle watched, as if someone had pressed a slow motion button on life, as that pile also spilled and then another, and finally another that sent a particularly heavy tome - a copy of The Complete Works of Edgar Alan Poe - sliding down the stairs as though delivering a tale of the ragged mountains* of books to Ruby’s prized, framed photograph of herself embracing a timber wolf. When the book had picked up enough momentum it flew off the stair tread, into the air, and shatter the glass of the picture.

Belle covered her mouth with her hand in horror, and Ruby came hurrying out of the kitchen to let out a strangled cry, and rush to the fallen keepsake. Picking up the photograph, and largely ignoring the broken glass, she looked up at Belle, and Belle looked down at her, knowing  _ this _ was the moment they’d both been trying to avoid, the point of no return.

Later, when the crying was done, and the hugging and the eating of ice-cream in front of the television had ended in the declaration of a comingling of brain-freeze and a sugar induced headache, Ruby asked softly, “Where will you go?”

Belle shrugged, and said quietly, “I don’t know,” and hugged Ruby again. “But like you said, something will turn up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *A Tale of the Ragged Mountains is a short story written by Edgar Alan Poe, and published in 1844. It concerns the (possibly hallucinatory) adventures of a man called Bedloe, who suffered with neuralgia and therefore retained the services of a Dr. Templeton, advanced in years, and a student of Franz Mesmer. The tale is told by an unnamed narrator who recounts the story as it was told to him by Bedloe, who, by the end of the tale has unfortunately met his demise. (Hey, it wouldn’t be Poe if nobody died).


	5. Storybrooke Calling

It had been a few weeks since ‘bookgate’ as both she and Ruby had taken to calling that moment of truth that both made and broke, and then remade their friendship, and still Belle had yet to find anything that even in the slightest of ways fulfilled her yearnings for all that she’d hoped for. She had attended several interviews, and endured as many ‘training’ seminars in modern library techniques in an attempt to make herself more desirable and appealing to potential employers. However, lurking in the back of her mind was the knowledge of her past, and even if other people weren’t taking much notice of it - for she was always honest on her applications - her confidence did, and in the worst of ways.

Then, late one morning, a foul day by all reckonings of the weather, as she was trying to dodge the rain on her way to meet Ruby for coffee, her phone rang. She ducked into the nearest store doorway so as not to get her phone waterlogged, and looked at the number. She didn’t recognise it at all.

Ordinarily, she would ignore any number she didn’t know, assuming that if it were important, the caller would leave a message, but something made her accept this one.

“Hello?” she said, her voice tentative.

“ _ Hello. Is this Belle? _ ”

“Yes,” she said cautiously. There was something about the man’s voice that she recognised, but she couldn’t quite place it. It was gruff, but also had a warm edge to it, and she  _ knew _ she should know it.

“ _ It’s Leroy… From Storybrooke? I don’t know if you-- _ ”

“Leroy!” Belle exclaimed, feeling so many different emotions at once that she wasn’t quite sure which to address first, so in the end she said, “I remember, yes of course. Is everything all right?”

“ _ Well, see… _ ” She could almost imagine Leroy running his hand up and down the back of his head as he spoke to her. The image made her smile in spite of the rain, and her dour mood to match. “ _...after you left, me and the boys got to thinking, and it seemed to us like you had your heart set opening up a library here, and this place  _ needs  _ a library, so we did a little digging. _ ”

“Leroy,” Belle began, glancing at her watch, and realizing she was going to be late if she stayed in the doorway talking, Not wanting to be rude, she tried to find a way to end the call politely so she wouldn’t keep Ruby waiting. “You really didn’t have to do that just for me.”

“ _ Hear me out, okay?”  _ Leroy said, and Belle pursed her lips, having little choice but to head out in the rain and at least try to keep under the shop awnings.

“All right,” she said, “Go on.”

“ _ I don’t know how much you had your heart set on it being a  _ mobile _ library, but… it turns out that the actual library itself isn’t a municipal building after all. _ ”

“It’s not?” Belle frowned in confusion, because one of the reasons that Mayor Mills had given her for not being able to open the library was because of the state of the building. Surely if it didn’t  _ belong _ to the town, why would  _ that _ be a bother to her?

“ _ Surprised us too, _ ” confessed Leroy.

“So, wha--” Belle began to ask, but Leroy wasn’t yet done with his explanation so, while Belle hurriedly side stepped to avoid getting suddenly soaked by a curtain of water streaming from the broken canopy of a baker’s shop, he continued.

“ _ So we did a little  _ more _ digging, and it took us a couple of weeks, but, _ ” he said, and Belle pressed her phone to her ear a little more so that she could be sure to hear him as she neared the edge of the sidewalk, and saw Ruby waving to her from the Starbucks across the road. She  _ tried  _ to concentrate on Leroy’s words and on crossing safely both at the same time but it wasn’t easy so she lost some of the string of words coming from the gruff voice on her phone as she waited for a gap in the traffic, so that she could dash across and finally get out of the rain once and for all. She spied an opening in the steady stream of cars and started to half walk, half trot, finally able to tune back in to what Leroy was saying. “ _...got to the bottom of it, and with a little pushing the right buttons, and a few politely spoken words in the right ears, well… we pooled our cash together and... you got yourself a library, sister!” _

Leroy’s words came crashing over her and stopped her in her tracks, just as if a heavy truck had driven at speed through a puddle and sprayed her with freezing water. 

“Wait, what?!” she said, not quite believing what she’d just heard, and completely oblivious to the fact that she’d stopped walking right in the middle of the road, or that the rain was now coming down faster than ever, right on her exposed head.

“ _ Yep, _ ” Leroy said, his surprising happiness - as he’d always struck Belle as such a surly man - bubbling over even down the phone. “ _ Deposit and first month’s rent is all paid up, and we figure once you’re in there, and get everything up and running, the mayor will have no  _ choice _ but to pay your salary, given that it was the building costs she was objecting to. _ ”

“Wait,” Belle said again, and at the sound of a car horn, far too close for comfort, raised an apologetic hand to the driver she was delaying and as soon as she could, hurried to the other side of the street asking, “You guys  _ did  _ this?”

“ _ Of course we did, _ ” Leroy said, “ _ and we’d do it again, twice over, if we had to. We know you’re good for it. _ ”

“Leroy, that’s…” Belle broke off with a joyful laugh, no longer caring about the rain or what people might think of her sudden outpouring a celebratory laughter. “That’s wonderful… oh, my God, I could kiss you!”

She could almost  _ hear  _ Leroy blush on the other end of the phone. “ _ Just get yourself up here, Sister. _ ” he told her. “ _ You have a library to reopen. _ ”

Belle quickly said her goodbyes, promising to head to Storybrooke as soon as she could and then slipped the phone into her pocket, still laughing half in merriment and half in disbelief. Reaching Ruby, she threw her arms around her friend and practically pulled her down to the ground, so fierce and sudden was her hug.

“Belle, what the fuck?!” Ruby said, pushing her away. “You’re soaking wet, and what’s with stopping in the middle of the street like that. You’ll go and get yourself killed and--”

“I did it!” she exclaimed, and then rapidly correcting herself, but speaking so quickly she doubted anyone would follow her anyway, added, “Well, technically they did it, but they did it for me, and they  _ need  _ me, and now I have somewhere to go, and a job and… and a  _ library! _ ”

“What are you  _ talking _ about?” Ruby asked, frowning and almost pushing Belle inside the Starbucks and ahead of her to order coffee before she caught her death of cold.

“Leroy, and the other guys… in Storybrooke,” she said and as they waited their turn in line for the ordering counter, Belle explained to Ruby what was going on. They had their coffee and were moving to find a place to sit and drink by the time Belle finished her excited retelling of it all.

“So, you’re telling me,” Ruby said as she slipped into a seat opposite Belle, “that a bunch of strange guys in a place you’ve visited once  _ paid  _ for the lease of a library building… for you… and you don’t see anything  _ wrong _ with this scenario?”

“Well, I’ll pay them back,” Belle said, with a frown, not at all sure what Ruby was getting at, “Of course, I will.”

“Fuck, Belle,” Ruby shook her head, and sighed out a breath. “You’re a total lunatic!”

“No,” Belle said firmly as she lifted her coffee cup to her lips, which for the first time in a long time were upturned in a smile. “I am a librarian.”


	6. Going Home

There was simply no way that her luggage allowance on the bus to Storybrooke would allow her to pack everything she wanted to. Still, Belle made sure she left room among her clothes for some of the many books that were still piled (although now mostly in boxes) around Ruby’s apartment.

Ruby had agreed that she would look after them until Belle could find a way to get them to the small town in Maine, though for the record, told Belle that she still thought she was insane.

_ “What if it doesn’t work out?” she asked. “What if you can’t find a place to live? You gonna camp out in the library after closing time? String a hammock between the stacks or something?” _

_ “No,” Belle couldn’t help the way her voice rose and fell on the end of her denial, wondering if, in fact, that was what she might have to end up doing. Her severance, and her accrued pay in lieu of vacation and sick time would only last so long, and that would be a drastically reduced time if she had to rely on keeping a room at Granny’s Bed and Breakfast. She decided that she would give herself a week, two at the absolute most, to find  _ somewhere  _ in Storybrooke to put down roots and call her own. “Besides,” she added sheepishly, “I haven’t actually  _ seen  _ inside the library yet. I don’t know if the stacks even exist.” _

_ “Okay, now I know you’re insane,” Ruby said with a roll of her eyes that while playful, Belle knew held a serious note of concern for her born of their friendship through the last… Belle blinked. Had she really known Ruby for so long? “What was the name of that doctor of yours again?” _

_ “Not funny.” Belle knew that Ruby was only teasing, but the comment hit a little too close to home. Ruby gave her an apologetic look. _

_ “Call me when you get settled, yeah?” she said squeezing Belle’s arm. “And as soon as you’re fit for visitors you better bet your ass, I’m coming to crash your pad. You know that right?” _

_ “I’d be offended if you didn’t,” Belle said and smiled at her friend. _

Belle sighed as the passing countryside, growing increasingly more wooded and less like one endless highway, heralded their imminent arrival in Storybrooke. She found herself getting quietly excited, in a nervous kind of way, anticipating taking long walks through the surrounding woodlands. As she gazed through the window at the passing scenery, she was surprised to see what looked like some kind of farm buildings tucked away in a cleared area among the trees. She hadn’t noticed it before, and wondered what other secrets Storybrook kept hidden away in its woods.

The bus slowed, taking a few bends in the road carefully, and then picked up speed again enough that the sign reading  _ Welcome to Storybrooke _ flashed past like an almost subliminal, personal message.

All too soon, the forest gave way to scattered buildings, larger on the outskirts of the town, one or two almost mansion-like, and then to more closely populated neighborhood streets. Belle couldn’t help but wonder who lived where, and what each of the residents might like to read - should they come into the library of course. The closer they got to the middle of town, the more people Belle spotted walking around, going about their day to day business. She thought they probably all knew one another, as was the way of things in small towns - or so most of the books she’d read had always led the reader to believe - but she, herself, had only ever lived in a densely populated city, where people kept themselves to themselves, and their own business private, and she’d only ever been able to be a part of anything approaching the slightest of connections with others - and thus feel at home - while working in the library.

The thought of the library made her turn her head to instinctively seek out the Town of Storybrooke Free Public Library, still boarded up and standing forlornly at the intersection of the two main streets running through the town. It was the literal center of the town, it should have been the town’s heart.

Belle smiled, then. If this was really happening, and not something that was ‘too good to be true’ then she’d soon see to it that the boards came off and she gave the town back its heartbeat.

The hiss of hydraulic brakes and the bus suddenly lurching to a stop pulled Belle from her daydreaming just as the overhead display, and the automatic voice announced the town’s name, and she got up from her seat, grabbing her coat, her backpack and her purse from the rack overhead. As she stepped down from the interior of the bus and onto the sidewalk, the driver was just setting down her oversized suitcase onto the cracked concrete beside the pole that marked the stop. Belle reached into her pocket to pull out the few bills she had slipped in there to tip him. He gave her a smile, nodded, and then climbed back aboard. The doors closed, and the bus pulled away as Belle shouldered her backpack and turned to gaze across the four way intersection of her new home.

She shivered then, wishing she’d thought to put on her coat before stepping out into the  _ very _ fresh air, but even that couldn’t dampen the sense of excitement and adventure that was suddenly bubbling in her stomach. Turning, she grabbed the handle of the heavy suitcase, and began pulling it along toward the welcome lights of Granny’s diner. She’d get herself settled first,  _ before _ she went dashing madly to investigate her new library, even though that was all she wanted to do.

The patio was empty, which was hardly surprising given the quickly falling temperature of the early afternoon. She could see, however, that inside of the diner, Granny was doing a very brisk trade, and wondered whether she should have gone to the library after all. Still, she was there now, so she pulled open the door and struggled her way inside, trying to tug the heavy case up the steps.

“Belle!”

Granny’s voice made her stop mid struggle, in time to see the elderly woman cuff one of her patrons around the back of the head as though he were an errant son, and the man got up and came over to bring her case inside, and on Granny’s wordless nod, out through the rear of the diner, to where the steps to the bed and breakfast were accessible. Granny came over to greet Belle properly, with a hug.

“You look half famished, girl,” she said. “Let’s get something warm inside you. Leroy said you might be coming in the next day or so, so I got your old room ready for you.”

“Oh, Granny,  _ thank _ you. I didn’t expect you to go to such trouble.” Belle said.

“Ah, it’s no trouble,” Granny waved off the comment. “Not for our new librarian.” she smiled, and then as if suddenly remembering, added, “Which reminds me…”

From the pocket of her apron she pulled out a small black box of the kind in which a museum gift shop might package a necklace or other trinket, around which a piece of white ribbon had been somewhat artfully tied.

She handed it to Belle and said, “Someone… dropped this off for you at the front desk.”

Frowning in confusion, Belle set down her backpack beside the counter, pulled at the ribbon to unfasten the bow, and then opened up the box. Her face cracked into a huge grin.

Inside, lying on a thin layer of cotton placed in the bottom, was a single key, attached to a circular key chain, and on the circle, written in a neat and flowing script, was a single word:  _ Library. _


	7. Forgotten In Time

Belle felt much better for having eaten the food that Granny placed in front of her. She hadn’t realized quite how much the journey had taken out of her. Now that she was finished though, trying to sit and let her food settle, she felt as though the library key was burning a hole in her pocket.

It was late afternoon, going on early evening, and the light was beginning to fade, but she still had an hour or so, she was certain, before it would be too dark to see, and she doubted that anyone had the foresight to turn on the power to the library, especially not as no one knew exactly when she was coming.

When at last she could bear the excitement and anticipation no more, she slipped out of the diner, and made her way to the library doors. There, she stopped for a moment, just as though she were reading the pages of the newspaper that was taped up over the windows of the front door. Then with a deep breath, she fit the key into the lock, and turned it. The mechanism tumbled smoothly with a delightful click that made her want to express her overflowing happiness with a bubbling laugh.

She pulled open the door, feeling for all the world like an archeologist discovering an ancient wonder of the world, and stepped into the coolness of the building, inhaling deeply - filling her lungs with the scent of the books that remained on the shelves. Between the books, and the dust on the floor, she felt as though the place had simply been locked up one night… and forgotten.

“Well not any more,” she said out aloud into the stillness of the library. Her voice echoed slightly as she spoke, turning in full circle to take in what she could see.

To her right, the large, wide circulation desk stood open and inviting. She walked behind, taking in everything, already making plans in her mind. The computer was outdated, though at least it was still there. Another time, she’d have to be sure that it worked, but for now she simply added it to her mental inventory. She turned her back on the desk, running her eyes over the shelves behind, where books with pieces of paper sticking from them were still forlornly awaiting collection.

She ran her fingers over the spines of the books, selecting one at random, and pulling it from the shelf. She flicked through the pages almost reverently, then pulled out the slip of paper, to see who had requested the book, but the ink on the slip was so faded, and the light already so dim, that it was impossible to tell what the name might have been. With a sigh, she slotted the book back into the space left on the shelf;  _ plenty of time to investigate later _ , and then moved from behind the desk out into the library itself, passing beneath the lintel into the room where the rows of bookshelves, and tables for reading and study, were already casting long shadows across the floor. She walked up and down between the rows of shelves, trailing her fingers over the edges of them, her eyes caressing the call numbers as she walked between magic and mythology, and in another section, pausing mid step as she reached  _ Fic:Esp _ and found an absence there that made her heart feel suddenly heavy. She held in the feeling and then turning to look around her at the books and the shelves… the ceiling, and the neglect of time, for a moment she was overwhelmed, and then she felt the change in the air, and heard the slightest of creaks from beyond the circulation desk.

Peering around the end of stacks full of books she called out a soft, “Hello?”

“Belle?” Leroy’s gruff voice answered her, and she let out a huff of nervous laughter to release the sudden tension and came fully around the stacks and out toward where Leroy was standing in the doorway with the door propped open by his foot.

“Leroy,” she greeted him, and said, “You startled me. I wasn’t expecting anyone. I was just taking a look around.”

“Be a lot easier with the lights on, don’t you think?”

She thought he might have been teasing, but wasn’t sure until he came further inside, letting the door close behind him, and moved across to a bank of switches behind the desk, and flipped them all to ‘on.’ 

Belle gasped as the overhead lighting spluttered once, flickered and then came on, dispelling the shadows and gathering darkness.

“There,” Leroy said. “Better, right?”

Belle turned around full circle for the second time, and grinned widely. “I can hardly believe it!” she told him at last, then sobering a little she said, “Of course, it will need a good clean before I can open it, and I have a lot of new books that I’d like to add to the shelves, but… it’s in even better condition than I thought it would be.”

“I’m just happy you like it,” he said, then almost wringing his hands, he added, “There’s… well there’s one more thing.” Belle frowned in confusion, then even deeper as Leroy reached for the door again, to push it open for her. He told her, “It’s outside.”

Almost wriggling with curiosity, Belle came to Leroy, and then moved past him as he continued to hold the door for her, before following her out. While she’d been inside the library, the sun had mostly set, and the street lights now glowed yellowish white. Beneath one of those, a small delivery style van was parked. Leroy walked to stand beside it.

“What do you think?” he asked. “I mean, I know it’s not the big van you’d been hoping for, but we figured - the lads and I - that you’ll likely need a little runabout, for like… sharing books with the school and all, and… and groceries or supplies for the library, so…” he shrugged then, and opened up the door. “It’s in pretty good condition, and it runs well enough. Michael checked it out, and when you decide on colors, we can always--”

“I love it!” Belle exclaimed and threw a sudden hug around him, pressing a kiss to his cheek, and then pulling back suddenly, blushing almost as fiercely as Leroy himself.


	8. A Fly In The Ointment

After an evening spent celebrating that things were  _ finally  _ coming together for her, Belle decided that she would make a start on cleaning up in the library the very next day. The sooner she had the place clean, the sooner she could open, and the sooner she could begin serving the people of Storybrooke and finding her place in the little town she had - though she wasn’t quite ready to admit it - already fallen in love with.

A hearty breakfast, followed by a trip to the local hardware store for buckets and cleaning supplies soon had her more than ready for a day of cleaning and dusting, and she unlocked the library and stepped inside with a spring in her step; for the first time in a long time, she found herself humming a little tune. She began by uncovering the windows, at least the ones that were only covered with newspaper. She might need help removing the boards from the outside of the other windows, and made a mental note to speak with Leroy, to ask for his help one more time.

With a little natural light coming in through the front windows now, to soften the artificial light from overhead, she turned to survey all the work she had ahead of her, and try to decide where to begin. She decided that dusting the desk, and then sweeping and mopping the floors would be the place to start, and without wasting any more time she lost herself in the task.

She was so engrossed in her work that she didn’t hear the door open, announcing the arrival of a visitor, and so jumped when the woman’s voice sounded behind her, almost causing her to hit her head on the lip of the circulation desk which she had been scrubbing clean.

“Well, isn’t  _ this _ a hive of industry.”

Belle made a small sound of surprise and then spun around, scrubbing brush still in hand to see Mayor Mills standing with her arms folded, looking somehow offended.

“Madam Mayor,” Belle greeted her, offering an apologetic smile for not extending her hand for a handshake, as covered in grime as she already was. “I’m afraid it will be a few days, perhaps a week before I can open the library again. A while at least.”

“On that we are in agreement,” the mayor said, her voice frosty, and Belle did not miss the fact.

“I’m sorry, I--”

“I would have thought that you’d do me the courtesy of calling into my office before you began what may very well turn out to be a pointless gesture.” Mayor Mills said. “Do you think the town of Storybrooke would allow just  _ anyone _ to work in a municipal position without going through the proper hiring procedures?”

“Mayor Mills, I--”

“You may hold the lease on the building,” the mayor said, her voice clipped as she added darkly and pointedly, “for now... but that doesn’t necessarily mean that I find you qualified for the position of librarian. Until I’m convinced - however much it seems the people of this town  _ want _ a library - I’m afraid I won’t be able to release any municipal funding for the running of the building. No utilities, no operating budget, and certainly no salary.”

“But--” Belle stammered, trying to get a word in edgewise, but Mayor Mills was on a roll, and Belle could tell that - for whatever reason it was that she appeared to hate her - that she was revelling in this little dressing down that she was giving.

“Not to mention there’s paperwork to be completed, which, if you’d checked in at my office before running off half cocked and thinking you could sidestep the regulations in your haste to get your own way, in spite of my having already turned  _ down _ your proposition in the first place.”

She paused then, leaving Belle breathless and all but gaping at the vitriol with which the mayor was addressing her, and not knowing at all what to say.

“Well?” Mills went on, a touch of impatience in her voice now. “Nothing to say, Miss Marchland?”

Belle took a breath, and finally found the where-with-all to speak. “Madam Mayor,” she began, “As you recall, when I first approached you with my proposal concerning the opening of the library, I gave you all my credentials, and a written application that I had been given by your office.”

“I recall,” Mayor Mills sniffed with added irritation, “However there were two important pieces of your paperwork  _ missing _ Miss Marchland, and without them, we can’t move forwards.”

“And they are?” Belle asked then, her own irritation rising in place of her startled intimidation as she recognised all too clearly the red tape with which the mayor was attempting to bind her. She had spent or allocated almost all of her severance pay to reimburse Leroy for what he’d already paid, and ensure the next sixth month’s rent on the property. The last thing she needed was some jumped up, full of herself, self proclaimed mistress of the town turning her dreams to ash.

“I shall need a sealed copy of your college transcript,” Mills informed her loftily, and then as if casually, added, “Oh, and of course a copy of the discharge papers from the hospital in Boston.”

“You--”

“Ah, ah, Miss Marchland,” Mills cut her off, “We don’t want to go throwing unpleasant names at each other now do we.” She smiled icily, “I may well be a bitch, as no doubt you were about to say, but around here, I’m  _ the _ bitch, so… it’s your choice: the paperwork, or no library.”

“You’ll have your paperwork,” Belle snapped, her tone part way between petulance and fury.

“Excellent,” Mayor Mills said with a smile, but her smile did not reach her eyes. “Then we’ll not have a problem, will we.” Then as if she just remembered, she added, “Oh, and I’ll need that within the next forty-eight hours. That won’t be a problem, will it?”

“What!” Belle cried out, actually taking a step toward the mayor and brandishing her scrubbing brush as though it were a sword. “You know damn  _ well _ that’s practically impossible.”

“Well, if you’d come to me in the first place, as you should have, I could have told you all of this in advance,” the Mayor said, her icy smile still on her lips. “But, well… I’m sure you’re a resourceful young woman, certainly manipulative, if nothing else.”

“Manipulative?” Belle frowned, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t play coy with me, Miss Marchland,” Mayor Mills said, “I think we both know  _ exactly _ what I mean. So… forty-eight hours. I look forward to receiving your paperwork - or not.”

Belle watched, both confused and agape as the mayor turned on her heels and headed for the door, where she turned back and with a great deal of spite in her tone said, “Excellent work on cleaning the place up, by the way. If the Library doesn’t work out, I’m sure  _ someone _ will take you on as a fine domestic servant… little  _ maid. _ ”

Then she was gone, the library door swinging closed behind her and in frustration Belle threw the scrubbing brush into the bucket, splashing suds and water over the floor, and allowing herself just a few moments of panic as something in the way the mayor had said the word  _ maid _ sent a strange shiver down her spine.


	9. Ways and Means

Once she was past the moments of panic, then had shaken off the despondency, and had finally finished seething - which turned out to be good for the floor of the main entrance of the library, which she scrubbed from wall to wall until is shone, thanks to the energy of her anger - Belle found that she was able to think a little better. She’d be damned if she was going to let the red tape that Regina Mills was trying to throw in her way derail her plans. Not now, when she’d come so far. So, a few minutes later she found herself standing outside the glass doorway of the office of one Doctor Archibald Hopper M.D. Psychiatrist. It wasn’t that she felt like she needed help with her mental health - except perhaps the stress that the Mayor was forcing on her - just that she believed that it would be the only way she could get the medical records released in sufficient time to meet the deadline.

She hated psychiatrists. Hardly surprising really given her past, and all that it had brought her, but she tried to tell herself that she shouldn’t tar them _all_ with the same brush just because of their profession. _Like librarians,_ she added mentally, _We’re not all obsessed by silence and shushing._

She took a breath and pushed open the door, climbing the stairs to find herself outside another doorway, this one wooden. For a moment she listened and unable to hear voices from inside she knocked and waited. After a moment the door was pulled open with rather more energy than she expected and a gray suited, bespectacled man with a kindly face and seriously receding, red hair stood before her.

“Um… hi,” he said, and then apparently remembered to smile.

“Doctor Hopper?” she asked, and at his nod she added, “I’m… Belle Marchland, the new librarian?” she gestured behind herself as if the library was right there, and Doctor Hopper's smile became a little wider.

“Yes, yes of course,” he said his voice as kind and soft as his face suggested it would be. “Won’t you come in? Is… is there something I can help you with?”

She followed him into the office, glancing around at the comfortable looking couches and chairs, the coffee table, the fireplace, and the file cabinets that lined the wall.

“Actually, yes,” she said folding her arms as she came to a halt, studiously avoiding the couch, or the chair… anything of the usual ilk that screamed ‘psychiatrist.’ “I was hoping you could.”

“Well,” he said gesturing to the couch, “Why don’t you take a seat and we can talk about it?”

“Oh no, no,” she said quickly, “Not like that. You see, I _said_ I’m the new librarian, but it’s not actually official yet, and the Mayor has kind of put… well… let’s just say she seems to want to make things difficult for me.” She took a deep breath and then admitted, “A while back, I was being treated at a hospital in Boston for a trauma related condition. I was discharged completely,” she added quickly, “but the Mayor is demanding to see the records, the discharge papers.”

Doctor Hopper frowned. “And is that a problem?” he asked, using a finger to push his glasses further up his nose.

“No, _that’s_ not the problem,” Belle said, “just the amount of time she’s given me to _get_ them.”

Hopper’s frown lifted as understanding dawned on his face. “Oh,” he said, “I… yes, I think I could probably help you with that.” He nodded to himself and turned toward one of the file cabinets which he opened up and began pulling out papers, “It would mean you’ll have to fill out some paperwork, and… and perhaps we should have an ‘initial consultation’," he said in a way that led Belle to believe that he was doing so in order to ensure that what passed between them would _stay_ between them, and thus found herself warming to the man a little. “Not that I have anything _against_ the mayor,” he said then, handing her a clip board onto which he’d slipped the papers, “but… well, Regina can sometimes be a little rigid in her thinking, and so many of my patients have expressed how excited they are that the library will be opening again - which I imagine would be quite difficult without a librarian to run it.”

Belle smiled, and took the pen he offered, and then gingerly lowered herself to the edge of the couch as she said, “Thank you, Doctor Hopper.”

“Please,” he said kindly, “Call me Archie. Can I offer you some tea?”

After another forty five minutes, Belle left the office with a little more hope in her heart than she'd had the previous hour, with assurances from the doctor that he would contact the Boston hospital as many times as it took for him to secure the paperwork by fax, and then he would let her know when she could come and collect it. She thought it was probably the most positive experience she’d had with a psychiatrist in… well… ever.

The problem of the transcript was a more challenging one. Yes, she could contact the University in Boston and request the transcript, even pay for a next day service, but that would mean her driving to Boston to collect it, and then driving back the following day to ensure she could meet Regina’s deadline. It was doable, but it would mean a lot of toing and froing, late nights and early mornings.

She supposed that was the point.

Returning to the library, she pulled out her phone once more, made the call to the University and arranged to collect the sealed transcript by nine am the following day, at no little cost to her from her rapidly dwindling bank account. Still it couldn’t be helped, and since she had already arranged for a number of things to happen that afternoon, she resolved that she would leave for Boston right after dinner that evening. She was utterly determined to signal to the mayor that she fully intended to comply with her _unreasonable_ demands by continuing to work on making the library clean and tidy and ready for business. That afternoon she had Leroy coming over to take down the rest of the boards from over the windows.

She was just about to start on cleaning another of the shelves when her phone rang. She had forgotten that, before she’d finished freaking out that morning, she’d sent a hurried text to Ruby and now her friend was calling her back, no doubt to talk to her about it.

“ _What do you mean she’s wants the fucking paperwork?_ ” Ruby said by way of a hello.

“Just that,” Belle sighed, shaking her head. “Marched in here as if she owned the place and demanded that I give her a signed transcript, and a copy of my discharge papers within the next forty eight hours or there would be no funding for the library.”

“ _Well I suppose she kind of does own the library really, it being a town building and all._ ”

“Um, no,” Belle said. “You remember I told you that Leroy and his friends had arranged for me to take the lease…? Well that’s not from the Town of Storybrooke.”

“ _Then who?_ ” Ruby asked, and Belle could hear her frown.

“Someone called RG holdings,” Belle answered. “But it’s still a moot point if I can’t get the paperwork to the mayor’s office in time.”

“ _Because no paperwork, means no funding, and no funding, no job._ ” Ruby clarified.

“Yeah,” Belle said with a sigh.

“ _Well, then I suppose, at least, it’s good you haven’t signed it yet._ ”

“What?”

“ _The lease?_ ” Belle was uncertain what she should say. She _had_ signed the lease as soon as Leroy had passed it to her; had taken the responsibility for the library, and everything that came along with it. She left a long and telling silence. After it had stretched on longer than was comfortable Ruby groaned softly. “ _Belle_!” she all but sang. “ _What were you_ thinking!”

“That things were actually going _right_ for once,” Belle snapped. “And I _will_ get past this Ruby, I _have_ to.” She sighed, and then took a breath. “I’ll be in Boston tomorrow, at least for an hour or two. I’m coming to collect my transcript.”


	10. A Deer In Headlights

Belle’s irritation lasted for the rest of the day, no matter  _ what  _ she did to try and shake it. It meant that the windows were spotless by the time she left the to get dinner before making the long drive back to Boston.

It was later than she had wanted before she left Grannies ready to climb into her little runabout. She had programmed her phone with the directions, but also - just in case - had a paper map.

“Only a librarian!” Leroy grinned as he walked with her to where the van was parked further down the high street.

“What?” she said, a slight smile on her own face. “Nothing wrong with being prepared. Never know when you’re going to run out of power, or your phone might not find a signal after all.”

As the two of them reached the corner, Belle felt the heat of a strange feeling pass over her, as though she were being watched and she turned first one way, and then the other, looking down past the library and across the road to where light had spilled across the sidewalk from the doorway that began to close behind what seemed like nothing more than a retreating shadow.

“Something wrong?”

Leroy’s voice pulled her back to the moment, and she realized they had come to a stop beside the van. She offered him a smile.

“No, sorry just... “ she shrugged, “miles away, I guess.”

“Yeah,” Leroy said. “Boston.”

“I wish,” she said, then laughed entirely without humor, not really relishing the drive. “Well… I guess I’ll see you tomorrow. Hopefully with the paperwork.”

“You got this, Sister.”

Nodding, Belle unlocked the van door, and Leroy opened it for her. Once she was settled inside, he closed the door beside her, and then raised a hand to wave farewell as he stepped away, past the corner, and off down the street.

Belle started the engine, carefully pulling out into the road and taking the opposite direction, driving past the bus stop that had been where she first set foot in Storybrooke. She smiled to herself, just a little bit, thinking how far she’d come in such a short time. It was then the memory of the cold, bitter smirk on the mayor’s face flashed through her memory, and the brief respite from the lingering mood she’d suffered faded, and her irritation returned with a vengeance.

Belle was well aware that driving when you were already angry wasn’t necessarily the best idea in the world, but she had little choice, if she were to meet the deadline, than to do just that. She couldn’t very well sleep and hope that the dawning of a new day would bring a better state of mind. As it was, she wouldn’t get back to Boston before one am, having already left so late. It added to her irritation as she had wanted to be away much earlier.

It had begun to feel as though everything were conspiring against her again, which she realized was a particularly paranoid state of mind as the  _ only  _ factor that appeared to be in any particularly existentialist state  _ against  _ her was Regina Mills.

Her thoughts were whirling rapidly around in her mind, in much the same way that the still naked branches of the trees were rushing past to either side. She lifted her foot off the gas, just a little, to allow her to take the bend in the road more easily, one more bend and she knew she would see the sign, that at this time of night, would be little more than a silhouette. She knew, from her previous bus ride back to Boston, that it read,  _ Leaving Storybrooke _ , and perhaps wanting to be away, all the quicker to return, she did not slow as much on the second bend.

Out of the darkness to the side of the road a flash of movement startled her, and she didn’t realize what it was until, too late, a deer darted out from the trees into the road ahead, where, caught in the headlights of the van, it froze.

Drawing a gasped breath, and holding it as she screwed up her eyes, not wanting to see the coming moments, Belle hit the brakes, gripping the wheel so hard that her fingers ached. She was certain that there was no way she would avoid the helpless animal. The van snaked, first one way, and then the other, eventually lurching to a halt diagonally across the middle of the road.

The engine stalled.

Slowly, Belle opened her eyes. Released from the direct glare of the van’s headlights, the deer blinked once, flicked the white of her tail and bounded away from the vehicle, disappearing into the trees on the other side of the road.

Swallowing, and breathing hard, Belle reached for the key and turned it to start the van again.  _ No harm done _ , she said to herself. Time to be on her way. The engine turned… and turned and  _ turned. _

Further ahead, from beyond the sign, brighter and greater lights seemed suddenly to appear as if from nowhere, and began barreling toward where Belle’s little van still sat blocking the road, it’s engine turning over and over but refusing to catch.

Belle’s heart clenched and leaped to choke her as the dark shape beyond the lights came closer, and still the engine wouldn’t start. She couldn’t think. Panic fogged her brain. A part of her knew she should get out of the van before whatever it was - and now the light was accompanied by a deep, rumbling growl - got too close, and the inevitable occurred, but her limbs wouldn’t work, and even when she managed to let go of the key and the steering wheel, her fingers flailed against the door, unable to find the handle.

The light blinded her, the growl became a roar, and the enormous wild animal bearing down on her hiss as though in great vexation. She covered her face with her hands, every muscle in her body tensing, waiting for the moment when everything would come to a terrible end, all her hopes, all her dreams… nothing but the hideous screeching cry that deafened her, even as she matched it; her mouth opening in a terrified scream. 


	11. Accidental Meeting

Her scream could only last but so long, and as short on breath as she had been in the first place, with the surprise of the deer first, and then the impending collision, it wasn’t that long of a time until silence descended. A strange silence, an eerie silence and dark, with hardly a hint of light to sneak beneath her tightly shut eyelids. What was this…? Was she dead, and this some kind of bizarre afterlife experience?

She felt no pain, could hear nothing, nor truly see anything but the occasional imagined flash of light beneath her eyelids. She often liked to fancy they were the reflection of her synapses firing, except now she had no activity in her brain whatsoever that wasn’t, _ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod!_

Even before she opened her eyes, she reached out again for the door. This time her hand almost immediately found the handle and pulled, opening the door, and after clumsily releasing the seat belt, she all but fell out of the little van, stumbled to the side of the road, and vomited what remained of the dinner she had enjoyed at Granny’s just before leaving. She stumbled back to the car, pulled the bottle of water out of the cup holder, and swilled out the sour taste from her mouth, before taking a proper drink, her hand shaking so badly that she almost spilled water all down her front. She leaned down again then, fishing around in the footwell of the passenger side to try and find her phone; a pointless exercise, since when she did, she discovered she had no signal.

She was just straightening up, and trying to avoid hitting her head on the door frame, when the sound of a much larger door slamming closed, followed by the scuff of feet reached her, shortly followed by a man’s angry voice.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, woman!”

She found herself confronted by an overweight, ruddy faced man with dark hair that was swept back off his face, who was wearing a rather flamboyant, almost fluorescently bright, reddish orange quilted vest, whose sleeves, from what looked like a well worn sweatshirt - so well worn that they had completely lost their shape - flapped at her as he jabbed his finger almost in her face. He was so overwhelming as to be intimidating, and in her already fragile emotional state, she backed away, finding herself closer to tears.

“There… it was…” she stammered, her voice a hoarse whisper, “A deer. There was a deer.”

“Oh,” he half turned away as he muttered, “Fuck’s sake,” then turned back to continue his rant, “Fancy that… a deer coming out of the woods onto the road! Never heard of that before! Have you _any_ idea what it takes to stop one of these big rigs! Any at all…?”

“No, I--”

  
“No, of course not,” he continued with his rant. “You could have _killed_ us all stopping in the middle of the road like that, just _sitting_ there…”

Belle barely heard the sound of the truck’s door opening and closing again, and evidently, through the noise of his angry diatribe, neither did the man that was not even letting her get a word in edgewise.

“...as if you’re out for a fucking Sunday picnic. You--!”

“Now, Karrl,” a new voice, deep and strong, she would almost describe it as warm, cut across the ranting man, “I’m sure there’s little need to speak to the lady in that way,” He gave Belle a bit of a nod, as his hand came down onto Karrl’s shoulder. “You were magnificent there. You saved all of us, _and_ the cargo is none the worse for wear.”

He gestured back towards the still open door to the truck, and Belle followed the direction of the gesture to see the spacious, high tech cab, with its glowing lights, and the curtained off area in the rear.

“Control want to speak with you,” the newcomer told Karrl. “They need your incident statement, before we can straighten the truck out.”

“Terrific,” Karrl muttered as he turned away and began to stalk toward the truck. “Just great! Now we’re in trouble for sure - nearly crashing like this. There will be investigations, and police, and…”

His voice faded off as he climbed up into the truck, and Belle brought her attention back to the other man in front of her. He was muscular, and tall. His face was handsome beneath a swath of dark hair, with blue eyes that shone, almost sparkled as he leaned toward Belle and said, as if confidentially, “Please, forgive Karrl. He’s a bit of a fool when it comes to situations like this, not to mention speaking with the fairer sex.”

Belle couldn’t help but shiver, though whether with the chill in the air, or because of the deep, smooth tones of his voice, kindly and concerned, she wasn’t sure and it seemed the other man noticed, because he suddenly slipped off the thick, plaid, woolen jacket he wore, and draped it over her shoulders.

“Where are my manners?” he said by way of an apology. “You’re shivering with cold. Are you all right?” Then as if he had just remembered, added, “My name is Hunter, Hunter Guest.” He offered her a polite handshake.

“Belle,” she said and slipped her hand into his, “Marchland,” she added. Then felt herself momentarily warmer as a blush covered her face when he closed his other hand over hers. “I’m fine,” she tried to tell him, blue eyes meeting blue. “Just a little shaken, that’s all.”

“No,” he crooned softly. “You’re perished.” He gestured to the cab and added, “Come up, we’ll have some tea. Help to warm you.”

“But… your friend.”

“Ah, don’t worry about Karrl,” Hunter said. “He’s harmless.” He leaned closer again, to whisper, “Just a little scared.”

Belle followed him, though she had little choice really, given that he kept hold of her hand, to the truck, and then accepted his help to climb the steps to the warmth of the cab. He followed her close behind, and drew aside the curtain, so that she could perch on the edge of the sleeping space, while he rummaged in a bag to draw out a large thermos, from which he poured steaming hot tea.

“Here,” he said and handed her the cup, closing his hands around hers until she wasn’t going to spill the hot liquid all over herself. Part of her was grateful for that, but as she sipped the tea, the weight of all that had happened swept over her, and she couldn’t stop the tears from falling.

She saw Karrl roll his eyes, but Hunter turned a cold stare his way, and then moved to perch beside her on the narrow cot, and rubbed her back with his large hand, murmuring soothing nothings until she began to calm; at least she calmed until the blue and red lights could be seen coming closer and closer, eventually heralding the arrival of the Sheriff, and the EMTs.

While the EMTs checked Belle over, Sheriff Humbert spoke with Hunter and Karrl, no doubt taking their statements and their particulars, and once the EMTs were finished with Belle, he came to her and with an almost apologetic smile, asked for her licence and registration.

They walked together back to her van so that she could retrieve them both, and she sat dejectedly, sideways, with her legs hanging out into the cold of the night as he took them to run them through his computer system. This was the last thing she needed. If Mayor Mills got hold of this, it would not make it any easier to convince the mayor that she was the right woman for the job of librarian.

While such negative thoughts were swirling in her mind, the Sheriff returned, and handing back her documents, said, almost as if he felt awkward asking, “I have to ask, Ms. Marchland, have you had anything to drink this evening?”

“What?” Belle stammered, and then quickly, “No! Nothing alcoholic anyway.”

“Well,” the sheriff gave her a definitely apologetic look, and held out the breathalyzer. “Procedure, you understand.”

Belle blushed scarlet, and couldn’t help but glance over to the truck once more, before looking at the Sheriff.

“But I’ve not been drinking,” she said.

“And I believe you,” Sheriff Humbert assured her, “but for the record, the report…”

Belle sighed, fresh tears welling in her eyes. “All right,” she whispered, and mortified, allowed the sheriff to administer the test to prove what she had told him was the truth.

“There, see,” he said as the numbers came back showing zero alcohol in her breath. “Now, let’s get your van moved off the road, and then we’ll get you home.”

“What?” Belle stiffened and shook her head, “Thank you, Sheriff, but that won’t be necessary. I have to continue on my way.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “There’s no chance of that.”

“But I have to get to Boston!”

She hadn’t realised she’d raised her voice quite so much until she saw the sheriff stiffen, and from the corner of her eye, noticed Hunter moving closer to the two of them.

“I’m sorry,” the sheriff said again, “but you’re in no fit state to drive, Ms Marchland, not tonight.”

“But I… I…” she brushed angrily at a few rebellious tears that spilled onto her face, “I _must!”_ she insisted. “It’s important, my job…”

She trailed off, covering her face with her hands, and then jumped as the weight and warmth of someone’s else’s settled onto her shoulder.

“Belle,” she heard Hunter’s voice, soft and close beside her, “We… after we have delivered our goods to the docks, and picked up our cargo from the cannery, Karrl and I are heading back to Boston. We could take you.”

She uncovered her face, and looked around at Hunter, hope flickering in her watery eyes,

“Is that even allowed?” she asked softly, and Hunter shrugged, looking at the sheriff, who echoed the movement with a shrug of his own.

“It’s the least we can do,” Hunter added, and reached out with his free hand to wipe away some of the tears from her cheeks.


	12. Surprising Thoughts

Perhaps it was the effects of the adrenaline wearing off, but not long after she had climbed into the cab beside Hunter and Karrl she found herself nodding in the seat that Hunter had insisted she take in his place. She remembered nothing of the return to Storybrooke, asleep before they reached the edge of town, and not fully rousing even when the big rig came to a halt in the cannery and warehouse yards.

While Hunter and Karrl unloaded the cargo from the back of the trailer, and then loaded up the goods that they would take to Boston, Belle sat thinking about everything that had happened since she tried to leave Storybrooke; tried to get to Boston so that she could meet the ridiculous demands with which the mayor had saddled her.

Ever since she came to Storybrooke, she felt as though she had to fight for each and every advance. She felt as though she were on a piece of elastic, and each time she snapped back, holding the other end of the elastic was Regina Mills. What did the woman have against the library… or was it against  _ her _ ?

As she pondered that conundrum, she caught sight of Hunter in the light spilling from the loading dock, and felt herself blush. It was unbidden, as were the accompanying thoughts of his physique. The memory of his fingers lifting away her tears of frustration and the warmth of his touch on her cheek, strengthened the blush.

She shook herself. She knew nothing of this man, and that gave her another pause for thought. She knew nothing of him and yet, because of her plight she had agreed to travel with him to Boston. Was she mad?

She did not, however, have very long to think on the naivete of her decision, as she felt, rather than heard the massive doors swing shut on the back of the truck, and a few moments later, the diver’s door opened, and Hunter climbed inside.

“So, Miss Belle,” he greeted her, and she bit her lip. “You ready for Boston, hmm?”

Before she answered, she looked around, and then turned back to him frowning to ask, “What about Karrl?”

He waved a careless hand as though it were of no consequence, before explaining, “He will wait here. There is another delivery to come in tonight and he will return with that truck.”

“Because of me?” Belle worried at her thumbnail.

“What?” Hunter frowned and looked at her just as he was about to start the engine. Then he shook his head and told her, “No. No, of course not. The route the other truck will take passes through the town where he lives, and it will drop him home.”

Belle looked at him for a long moment trying to assess whether he was telling her the truth or not. Eventually she decided she  _ couldn’t  _ decide and instead asked, “Is that even allowed?”

As before, Hunter shrugged, and said with some finality, “It is what he does.”

Once they began the return journey, traveling carefully on the roads out of Storybrooke, Belle found herself fighting sleep again. Her head fell often toward her chest then woke her with a start each time. She vaguely remembered glimpsing the  _ Leaving Storybrooke _ sign as she drifted in and out, and sleepily registered that this time it was without incident.

When she next awoke, more lucid than before, Hunter greeted her with a chuckle and told her, “There is tea, if you want it.” He glanced over at her, then nodded at a cup that was sitting snugly in an oversized cup holder and added, “It might be mostly cold by now, but still enough to brush away the cobwebs, hmm?”

“Where are we?” she asked him, leaning forward to pick up the cup, then sitting back to take a sip of the tepid, but strong tea.

“I-95, heading south,” he told her. Then, in a distinctly playful, teasing tone he asked, “Tell me again what times you plan to open this library of yours?”

Belle frowned, momentarily confused. “Nine am until ten pm… at least on weekdays,” she answered.

Hunter chuckled. “Hmmm,” he said, “You might perhaps want to revise that, given that you seem such a little dormouse.”

Belle blushed, and stuttered for a moment making no real sense. The way that Hunter was teasing her, and the way his teasing was making her feel was more than enough to keep her off balance. As if he had sensed he’d made her uncomfortable though, Hunter reached out and picked up her hand from her lap, and gave it a squeeze, which did nothing to reduce her blush.

There was silence for a while, which felt a little awkward, though Belle couldn’t think why it should be. He seemed kind enough and she knew he was only teasing, and in his own way probably trying to help her make light of what could be considered to have been a very traumatic evening. She didn’t  _ want  _ things to be uncomfortable between them, and so tried to think of something to keep the conversation going and to take the attention away from her.

She had noticed that Hunter had the slightest hint of an accent, barely there, but she asked, “Have you always lived in the United States?”

Hunter glanced at her for a moment and then shook his head, though he answered, “Since I was a baby, but my parents were from a little French town in the middle of nowhere. Me… I grew up here, and have worked here ever since.”

“Always driving?”

“Not always the big trucks, but always driving.” he answered. “It was what I always wanted to do.” She offered him a smile, listening as he went on, “I get to see the country that way; different cities - many different cities… many people.”

She nodded, offering, “That’s what I like about working in the library. The people you see. How you imagine their lives from the books that they read….” she trailed off, finding herself wondering what kind of books Hunter might like to read, or if he even read at all…  _ had time to read _ she amended and chastised herself for almost being judgemental, though she had to admit the man did look as though he possessed more muscle than anything else.

“Have you always liked books?” Hunter’s soft question interrupted her thoughts.

“Oh, always,” she said fervently. “Loved them actually. It became a joke in my home… and in school - everywhere really - that you’d always find me with a book in my hand.”

He chuckled, then noted in a soft but somewhat pointed way, “You don’t have one now.”

“No, I…” she faltered, but he continued just as quietly.

“What else do you dream of, hmm?” he asked. “What else makes you happy?”

She blushed again, and shook her head, but he smiled and coaxed, “Go on..” and leaning a little closer in spite of driving, and managing to keep the truck steady, he nudged her a little, “I promise I won’t tell anyone your secrets.”

She said, as though it were indeed a secret, “To see more of the world, but… to help people; solve their problems.”

“To be a hero, then.” he said, nodding to himself, but Belle squirmed feeling uncomfortable.

“Not necessarily…” She continued to shift, uncomfortably in her seat, insisting, “Just… to be needed.”

“Well,” Hunter said after a moment, “It seems to me, perhaps, that seeing more of the world would be… difficult if you want to be in the library, wouldn't you say?”

Belle shrugged a little, no doubt looking as wistful as she felt a moment later as she said, “I won’t be in the library forever, and even while I’m there… I can vacation. I’d love to see places like Africa, and England…”

“France?” he asked, raising his eyebrows in a way that hinted to Belle that he was somehow being suggestive,” I could… show you. If you ever visited.”

“Thank you,” she said, trying to keep her voice neutral, then to shift the subject again said, “ _ You _ must see all sorts of things, though, driving about as you do… when hardly anyone else is awake.”

“Sometimes,” he said with a shrug, then wrinkling his nose added, “There are plenty of things to see, if you look.”

“And do you?” she asked him, teasing slightly.

He chuckled, “There’s this one house… at the edge of Boston, where the highway meets. There’s often a person standing in the window looking out, like… a silhouette, and I wonder, what are they looking at?”

“Or waiting for.” Her romantic nature imagined all kinds of scenarios before she turned and gave him a bashful little smile. “Sorry.”

He reached out again, this time to rest a hand on the top of her knee. His hand was large, and warm, and stirred with just the slightest of motion that sent a tiny, tingling thrill through her.

“Never apologize for being as gentle as you are,” he told her, and she flushed again, glad of the darkness as the truck moved away from a lit area of the highway, glad that he couldn’t see how much his words were affecting her, and surprised, herself, that a man she had just met, and knew nothing of could indeed make her feel so much at all. Maybe it was just that she was feeling vulnerable after everything that had happened.

They drove in silence for a while afterwards, Belle lost in her thoughts, and occasionally dozing in spite of herself and his earlier teasing, until eventually, as dawn began to creep over the horizon to her right, the glow of the lights from the city of Boston up ahead began to pale in their intensity.

She heard Hunter sigh, and looked over at him.

“Something wrong?” she asked.

He shook his head, and after a few more moments pointed out the house he had spoken of earlier. The window was lit, but empty, leaving Belle to wonder where was the occupant that he had told her about.

“Too late,” he said with a shrug, and she countered.

“Or too early.”

“Perhaps,” he said with some doubt, and then another sigh.

“Hunter,” she said, trying the sound of his name for the first time, “What’s wrong?”

“Boston,” he said, sounding as though the name of the city was somehow offensive to him.

“What about it?” she asked, looking over at him curiously.

“I… don’t like it,” he said with a shrug. “Too big. Too noisy… and I don’t know anyone here - hardly at all.”

Belle frowned, “What about your family?”

“I only come here to work,” he said. “Here… I know no one.”

“Oh, Hunter, that’s not true, surely?” she said, her voice full of sympathy. “You know Karrl.”

“I  _ work _ with Karll,” he said, “he doesn’t count.”

Belle winced a little bit, but asked, “If you don’t like it, could you not move somewhere else? Somewhere a little more… rural?”

“A man like me?” he almost scoffed, and she shrugged and tried not to look affronted. “Why not?”

“You…” he went on, “You look so… so happy, and so settled, in Storybrooke, I mean. You seem to know at least what you want.”

She shook her head, “How can you not see that  _ I _ don’t know anyone there, In Storybrooke. Not really. But I’m trying. You could try too.” she gave him a smile, “In Boston, I mean.”

He made a non committal sound, and turned off the highway, driving them into the city proper, no doubt heading toward where he would drop her off before they reached his depot. As he pulled the truck into a space where he could safely let her out, unsurprisingly the empty parking lot of a large, grocery store, he answered, “It is hard to make a friend, when you are not in a place for long. It is hard not to be lonely in a place not your home.”

“And impossible if you never try,” she told him with a kind smile, and reached over to squeeze his arm supportively.

She found herself, for a moment, becoming lost in the blue of his eyes as he turned his gaze on her, and told her softly, “You are… an inspiration. Perhaps…” he trailed off.

“Perhaps what?” she asked when he didn’t go on.

“Perhaps I could write with you?” he said almost shyly. “I have Email.” He picked up a piece of paper from a space in the console beside him, and a pen from his visor, and scribbled something onto the paper before handing it to her. “Only if you are not too busy with your new library; if you want to.”

She took the paper from him, looking for a moment at the almost indecipherable scrawl, before tucking it into the pocket of her purse.

“Thank you, Hunter… for everything,” she said, then added, “And sorry for all the trouble I caused. Please tell Karrl that too.”

He nodded, holding the truck on its air brakes until Belle had climbed down from the cab and she waited for a while, stepping back at the hiss of the brakes’ release, watching as he turned the truck, and drove away. Belle sighed, and then headed along the street toward the nearby railroad station, where she knew she could get a taxi, worrying only slightly about waking Ruby up so early in the day.


	13. Under Storybrooke's Spell

“What the fuck, Belle!” Ruby spluttered for perhaps the sixth time since Belle had got her out of bed, pacing the kitchen as they waited for the water to boil for tea.

This first had been when she actually answered the door, and Belle had tried to apologize for arriving so early. The second had been when she’d explained what had happened as she was leaving Storybrooke, and the third when she’d told her she’d taken a ride with a complete stranger. She couldn’t remember what the other two had been over, but this latest was when Belle told her that she couldn’t take all the books back with her.

“I’m sorry, Ruby,” she said, tugging on her lower lip with her teeth, “But I’m going to have to book a private hire back to Storybrooke as it is, and I just won’t be able to fit them all in, so--”

“What the--!”

“Ruby, please,” Belle interrupted what she suspected would be the seventh time, and went on, “there isn’t a lot I can really do about it. Not if I want to jump through those hoops and get the library open - and right now it’s more like a  _ need _ than a want. Especially now.”

“That’s what I was going to say,” Ruby said, and harrumphed. “Getting a cab all the way back to Storybrooke is going to cost you a fortune.”

“Like I said, I don’t have a lot of choice.” Belle sighed.

“What is it about this place,” Ruby asked after a moment, turning to pour the water into the teapot once the kettle’s audible click broke the silence of Belle’s contemplation of her answer to Ruby’s question. “What’s the appeal? The amount of trouble you’ve had since you got there, and  _ still _ you keep going back.” She paused to bring the tea over to Belle once it was made and slipped into a chair before asking, “What’s in it for you?”

Belle sipped her tea, staring into the brown liquid thoughtfully for a while before looking up at Ruby as she said, “It’s a new start for me.” She sighed. “I honestly think I’m  _ needed _ there, you know? Everyone really wants that library to open.”

“Except the mayor, apparently,” Ruby interrupted.

“I can’t figure it out,” Belle nodded as she agreed. “It’s like she hates me or something.” She sipped her tea before adding softly, “She doesn’t even  _ know _ me.”

“Maybe she’s just a miserable old bitch,” Ruby said with a shrug. Then fixing Belle with a searching look, added, “But come on, there must be more than just the library that makes you want to be there…? What is it like? What are the people like?”

“It’s as if...” Belle tipped her head on one side. “It’s like it’s hidden away. Its own little kingdom in the middle of a forest. It almost completely creeps up on you. One minute you’re surrounded by trees, the next, there’s the town.”

“You make it sound like something out of Sleeping Beauty,” Ruby said with a huff of laughter that was filled with sarcasm. “You’ll be telling me next you have to cut your way through the thorns.”

Belle gave her a sour look, and continued. “The houses on the suburban streets, after you cross the town line are almost… I dunno, like mansions, some of them, and then further in… just… the town, normal houses and apartment, and the local stores… small ones, nothing like the big faceless grocery chain stores, and it’s quiet; personal.”

“Hmm,” Ruby said, studying Belle’s face for a moment before she said softly, “If I didn’t know better, I’d  _ say  _ there’s someone you have your eye on, little miss innocent.”

“What! No!” Belle protested, realising a moment too late that she had been far too quick to answer, and that brought on her blush. So she tried to change the subject, to return to her earlier description of the town of Storybrooke. “...and the little Bed and Breakfast where I’m staying--”

“Oh no you don’t, missy,” interrupted Ruby. “Come on. Spill!”

“There’s nothing  _ to _ spill,” Belle insisted, but Ruby shook her head, pointing to her cheeks.

“Then what’s  _ that?”  _ she accused.

Belle squirmed, not wanting to admit to her thoughts of Hunter, who had acted as her knight in shining armor; to the feeling their teasing, and how their brief moments of physical contact had made her feel.

“There  _ is _ someone, isn’t there?”

“It’s not like that,” Belle said. “It’s just that… well… Hunter. He was kind of interesting; kind of nice.”

“What, the total stranger you trusted to drive you all the way here?” Ruby once more fixed her with an admonishing expression, before she repeated, “What the fuck, Belle! He could be a psychotic ax murderer or… or… I mean, what do you know about him? For all you know he’s got family here, or he’s trying to swindle his way into your good graces to rip you off, and--”

“Ruby,” Belle cut across her friend’s list of objections. “He gave me a ride to Boston when I was stuck; in a bind. I hardly think that warrants a list of unpleasant accusations. He’s a nice guy.”

“All right,” Ruby said, sounding unconvinced and folding her arms. “If he’s such a nice guy, why didn’t he give you his contact de....tails.”

She trailed off as Belle fished in her purse and pulled out the piece of paper on which Hunter had scrawled his E-mail address and tossed it onto the table. Ruby reached out and picked it up, staring at it for a long time before setting it back down.

“Well, okay,” she finally said, but added, “but you still know next to nothing about the guy, and aren’t really likely to. What about the guys in Storybrooke?”

Belle raised an eyebrow then, as she tucked the piece of paper back into her purse.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were fishing for yourself.”

“No, just…” Ruby shrugged, “Looking out for my girl.” Then after a minute asked of silence asked, “So?”

“Well, I haven’t really met many of them, I’ll be honest. There’s Leroy,” she smiled then, “He’s been a godsend. Real handy man, heart of gold I’d say.”

“He’s the one that made sure you got the library lease, right?” Ruby asked, and Belle nodded.

“He and his friends, yeah,” she said. “But since then, he’s been helpful with some of the practical things that I couldn’t do… Oh, and he found the van for me.”

“Yeah,” Ruby crossed her arms again after having a long hard stare at Belle as if trying to judge her state of mind. then said, “About this van..?”

“Ruby, I told you,” Belle answered in a long suffering tone, “It was a fluke. A one off set of circumstances. The van’s fine.”

Ruby was silent for several moments as if she were trying to let Belle’s words convince her, then said, “So these… burly guys are the only ones in the town?”

“Of course not,” Belle said and unexpectedly blushed just a tiny bit, so slight she hoped that Ruby would make nothing of it. “There are quite a few men around town that I’ve seen from a distance.” she paused, before opening her mouth to continue, “But I’ve not really met any of the others.”

Even as she spoke the words, she felt the warm beginnings of another, almost lazy, but fierce, blush rise to color her cheeks, and unbidden, the image of a man, immaculately dressed in a finely tailored suit skipped across the surface of her mind, like a flat stone across a still, deep pool.


	14. Please and Thank You

Belle shivered and turned up the collar of her coat, putting her head down as she made her way quickly between Granny’s and the library. The rain seemed intent on committing aggravated assault, and in spite of how tightly she clung to the collar of her shirt, trickled inside and ran down between her shoulders, leaving what she knew would be a damp patch almost the entire length of her back.

The forecast had promised a break in the inclement weather, but so far it had pretty much rained every day since she’d been back, and not for the first time, Ruby’s question about what she saw in the town of Storybrooke flitted through her mind and for the life of her, she couldn’t think of an appropriate answer.

On her first day back, she hadn’t minded it so much, because she was so relieved to have actually managed to secure the position of head librarian _and_ the funding for the library that she needed, thanks, she believed, in no small part to the presence of a senior member of the town council in the mayor's office when she arrived…

* * *

Belle glanced at her watch again for perhaps the tenth time is as many minutes, her heart fluttering, _pounding_ even as she began to see the now familiar terrain, the tree lined road that led off from the highway, which would - she knew - eventually curve around to the fateful spot where the deer had caused her all the trouble, and was the reason she was now riding in the back of a private hire cab that had - quite frankly - been much more money than she could afford, but which she had no choice but to spend.

There had been a hold up on I-95 and that meant that what would have given her an E.T.A. that left a comfortable margin to get the paperwork to Mayor Mills, she would now have mere minutes, and that’s if she were lucky. First she had to drop the boxes of books that she _had_ managed to fit into the car at the library, and then once that was done, hurry off to the Town Hall, and thwart the mayor’s sabotage of her opening the library once and for all.

“I’m sorry, honey,” she heard the driver say, as she glanced at her watch again, and she cringed at the use of the endearment, “but I can’t take these bends any faster and be safe. I know it’ll mean we’re tight on time, but what can you do?”

She hmmd an absent, non committal response, because she knew if she did anything else, she’d end up saying something she shouldn’t or that she would regret. What felt like hours later, but could only have been a few minutes, she heaved a sigh of relief as they rounded the curve in the road, and the ‘Welcome to Storybrooke’ sign stood out starkly white against the darkening trees. She also noticed, as they turned around the bend, a newly erected series of black and yellow chevrons around the tightest part of the curve. A short way away from the bend, in the entrance to an access road - more a trail - into the trees, the flash of white showed her van was exactly where it had been left.

When they finally reached the town, Belle fought to keep down the panic that was rising in her. The clock on the dashboard of the car read 4:45pm. She would barely have time to drop the boxes and her things inside the library before she hurried to the town hall with the paperwork. She would be cutting it fine, if she even managed it at all.

She couldn’t give up now. She had done so much the past few days to make sure that Regina wouldn’t have her way and keep her from opening the library. It had become more than simply a need to provide her with a livelihood, and the town with a working public amenity, it seemed to have escalated into a full on battle of wits with the mayor of Storybrooke.

Thankfully, she had already paid the private hire ahead of time, due to the cost of the journey, so as soon as they pulled up outside of the library, she was already all but jumping out of the car and beginning to haul the boxes toward the library doors. She cursed herself for her fumbling with the keys, in her mind taking minutes from the amount of time she had remaining, but in reality it was less than one minute. By the time she had the doors open, the driver had brought several more of the boxes and stacked them with the others. As he went back for the rest, Belle began pushing and pulling at the stacked boxes to get them across the threshold, propping open the door with one of the heavier among them so that the driver could put the others directly inside. At last they were finished, and Belle practically thrust the two folded bills she had pushed into her pocket for the tip, into the driver’s hand.

“Very much obliged,” he said, and gave her a nod, before ducking back into the cab and and heading back the way they’d come, driving along the road that led to the town’s suburbs, and then out toward the town line.

Glancing at her watch again, Belle saw she had less than five minutes to get to the town hall, and began opening the tops of the smaller boxes to find the one in which she’d packed the papers, to make sure she didn’t lose them. One box… two… she found them, finally, on the top of the books in the third box she tried.

Snatching them up, she almost ran for the town hall, barely pausing to lock the library door again, not wanting to arrive breathless, but having little choice. When she got to the town hall building, she slowed her steps, forcing herself to calm by smoothing the travel wrinkles from her skirt and top, then, hoping she was presentable, she stepped into the office, and found her way around to the mayor’s office, where she was confronted with a secretary just coming out of the room.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “You can’t go in there. She has someone--”

Though not normally so rude, Belle shook her head, and pushed past the woman, bursting into the mayor's office, to see that indeed she had someone with her. He turned in his seat as she bustled in, raising an eyebrow in her direction, and she found herself face to face with the besuited Mister Gold. She groaned inwardly. For some reason she always seemed to make a poor impression of herself and she frowned then, not knowing why on Earth that should matter to her, but somehow it did.

It was Regina that spoke first, however.

“Miss Marchland,” she exclaimed. “I don’t know how they did things in Boston, but you can’t just come… barging in here without an appointment or introduction!”

“But you wanted this paperwork,” Belle protested.

“Yes, by five, I said,” Regina said, “And I’m afraid it’s past five and…”

Belle immediately glanced at her watch, the time showing 4:58pm. She was about to say so, when Mister Gold’s voice smothered Regina’s assertion like a fire blanket.

“No, no,” he said, correcting her, and as he stood, Belle noticed he had a pocket watch in his hand. “According to my watch there are still two minutes until five, and since I am the one without an appointment, far be it for me to interfere with the proper operation of the Town Library.” He paused, offering Belle an almost smile, that she thought from the other side of the argument might have looked more like a smirk. “After all, I’d be a poor representative of the Town Council if I stood in its way.” 

He turned to Regina then, and added, “Please, by all means see to it that the paperwork is properly filed now that the appointment of our librarian has been made.” He slipped the pocket watch back into his pocket, and nodded first to Regina and then to Belle. “Good day, Mayor Mills. Miss Marchland.”

Belle moved to the side, finding herself holding her breath as Mister Gold passed her in the doorway, and his knowing eyes met hers for a second longer than was necessary, drawing that precious breath from her lungs, before he stepped out of the room, and closed the door behind him.

* * *

Several days had passed since then, but in spite of now having her position officially approved by the Mayor, Belle felt no more secure than she had previously. The cleaning and redecoration of the library was moving on a-pace, thanks to the efforts of Leroy and his friends, and a lot of hard work from Belle herself. The books that she had brought from Boston were now catalogued and standing proudly in the spaces on the shelves. There was still one not so small problem.

With the cost of having to take a private car from Boston, and staying at the Bed and Breakfast quickly eating through her disposable income, if she wasn’t careful she wouldn’t have enough money to rest a home, and the prospect of needing to sleep in the van didn’t really appeal to her, long term.

Speaking of the van, she supposed she should go to collect the vehicle. It would be quite the walk, but she thought she could use the time to set her mind straight, help her to make a plan, and since the rain seemed to have finally relented, Belle decided that it was a good time to do that.

On the way out of the library, a book sitting on the desk, one of the ones she had brought with her from Boston, caught her eye, and on impulse, she picked it up and put it into her oversized purse, along with the remaining signs she had been tying on the lamp posts.

As she walked she began to think through the problem as best she could. Much as she loved staying at Granny’s, and Granny took good care of her, now that she had the library, she _had_ to find somewhere permanent to live, especially since Regina had paid her a visit since the incident in her office with Mister Gold, and had made hardly-at-all veiled threats that if she _didn’t_ have a permanent address soon, the town would have to revoke her appointment.

_“We can’t, after all,” she said with a viper smile on her face, “have an vagrant hold an office of the Town of Storybrooke.”_

The longer she stayed at Granny’s the less money she would have for a deposit and first month’s rent on a place to call home - not that there seemed to be much in the way of vacant homes in Storybrooke, and she checked… every day. She decided then, that once she had the library ready to open up - to her satisfaction at least, she would focus all her energies on finding somewhere to live.

She took a breath, picking up her head a little from where she was walking, looking at the road, and the verge at the side of the road. It didn’t surprise her all that much to find herself nearing the place in the road where the sheriff had left the van, and she was relieved to discover that it was still there, just as she’d left it.

As she approached the spot where the deer had leaped out of the woodland beside the road, she noticed the dark patches on the road where she had braked hard to avoid hitting the deer. Her mind flashing back to the moment even as she walked…

_It had begun to feel as though everything were conspiring against her again, which she realized was a particularly paranoid state of mind as the only factor that appeared to be in any particularly existentialist state against her was Regina Mills._

_Her thoughts were whirling rapidly around in her mind, in much the same way that the still naked branches of the trees were rushing past to either side. She lifted her foot off the gas, just a little, to allow her to take the bend in the road more easily, one more bend and she knew she would see the sign, that at this time of night, would be little more than a silhouette. She knew, from her previous bus ride back to Boston, that it read, Leaving Storybrooke , and perhaps wanting to be away, all the quicker to return, she did not slow as much on the second bend._

_Out of the darkness to the side of the road a flash of movement startled her, and she didn’t realize what it was until, too late, a deer darted out from the trees into the road ahead, where, caught in the headlights of the van, it froze._

_Drawing a gasped breath, and holding it as she screwed up her eyes, not wanting to see the coming moments, Belle hit the brakes, gripping the wheel so hard that her fingers ached. She was certain that there was no way she would avoid the helpless animal. The van snaked, first one way, and then the other, eventually lurching to a halt diagonally across the middle of the road._

_The engine stalled._

_Slowly, Belle opened her eyes. Released from the direct glare of the van’s headlights, the deer blinked once, flicked the white of her tail and bounded away from the vehicle, disappearing into the trees on the other side of the road._

...and as though that hadn’t been enough, she remembered the fear she’d felt at seeing the big rig barrelling toward her; how she’d felt her life was at an end. It was a strange juxtaposition of thoughts and actions, as she drew level with the spot where the truck had finally come to a stop, that she was now preparing to begin anew and open the library, and also to give the people of Storybrooke a new beginning.

She wanted to give Hunter something to mark his part in it all, and because… well because he’d been so nice to her, so attentive as he’d driven her to Boston after the near disaster. The thoughts combined in her head as a warm feeling began to flow through her, and she reached into her bag and pulled out the book she had slipped into it, along with a plastic bag, and one of the signs announcing the opening of the library.

Looking around the area near to the tire tracks on the road, she spotted the nub of a broken branch that was large and sturdy enough to support the book she wanted to leave, and was in clear sight of the road.

It was a ridiculous notion, she thought, even as she slipped the book - _Blue Highways: A journey Into America_ by William Least Heat-Moon - into the plastic bag and hung it over the knotty nub on the tree. Then she speared the sign that read, “Town of Storybrooke Library, Opening Soon,” onto the nubbin as well, tying the top of the sign into place with a piece of twine, but she hoped that Hunter would see it and realize she had left it as a gift for him.


	15. Revelations

What Belle had hoped was as an improvement in the local weather turned out to have been the worst kind of lie that a meteorological phenomenon could have told her. As she stood shivering in the ‘wind tunnel’ that was the space between the side of the only bank in Storybrooke, and the adjacent building, waiting for the ATM to spit out its death knell piece of paper into her waiting hands, she found herself growing more and more annoyed that she hadn’t listened to the overheard warnings of the people she saw every morning in Granny’s.

Shifting from foot to foot, she wrapped her arms across her chest, tucking her hands beneath her armpits for warmth before they froze like icicles. The machine in front her whirred and clicked, before the sibilant swish of the emerging slip of paper momentarily drowned out the sound of the wind.

Belle quickly snatched it up and peered at the numbers printed starkly onto the off-white chit, and sighed heavily.

“Great!” she muttered, and thrust it, and her hands, into her pockets, and quickly turned and made her way toward the library, where at least she could get warm, if not calm at the discovery that the deposit she was expecting from the Town of Storybrooke had not, in fact, made it into her bank account.

Once the door closed behind her, she let out a string of expletives as she stripped off her jacket and set her purse behind the circulation desk. She leaned against its solid support as she tried to figure out what she could do - beyond storming into the town hall and demanding a check from the mayor there and then - to stay on her feet until the payment of her salary became a more reliable event _and_ find somewhere to live. It was a conundrum, and a problem that Belle was certain would give her many a sleepless night.

For the rest of the day, however, she threw herself and all her energies into continuing with the cataloging and preparation of all the books in the library so that she would stand a chance of meeting her own self-imposed deadline for the grand re-opening of the Storybrooke Library. Exhausted, and covered in book-dust, she could barely keep her feet for long enough to take a soothing shower before she she fell into bed after getting back to Granny’s.

Her exhaustion, however, was not enough to keep her asleep for the whole of the night, and it was with bleary, unfocused eyes that she peered at the bedside alarm clock at 2:12am. For several long minutes, which felt more like hours, she tossed and turned, and then lay on her back trying the deep breathing exercises that some hippy friend of Ruby’s back in Boston had once taught her the last time she was suffering from ‘anxiety insomnia.’ Nothing worked. Finally she threw off the covers, pulled on a pair of thick, soft woolen socks and her heaviest winter overcoat over the top of her pajamas, and crept as quietly as she could down the stairs before pulling on her shoes and stepping out into the night. Perhaps a brisk walk would help to settle her mind and would allow her to find sleep again.

After the third such night in a row of almost the exact same physiological timetable, Belle found that her walk brought her back, not to Granny’s Bed and Breakfast, but to the front doors of the library itself. After another such night she stopped fighting it, let herself into the library, and continued working from where she had left off in the complete reclassification of every book in the building. Sometimes she would work through the night, returning stiff and yawning to breakfast at Granny’s, and sometimes simply wrapping herself in one of the blankets with which she’d insulated some of her more precious books for the journey north, and falling asleep right there in the stacks, the unshelved books serving as her pillow, and then returning just as stiff, but without yawning quite so much to breakfast the following day. If Granny thought anything of it, she didn’t utter a word to Belle.

It was, perhaps, after another week or two, and after - once again - failing to receive her salary on time from the Town of Storybrooke, that everything changed. The previous night she had made the deliberate and conscious decision to return to the library after dinner, and to stay there overnight. She was realistic enough to understand that with the unreliable nature of the Mayor’s office of finance, she was going to have to drastically reduce her outgoings, and that meant one thing. No longer keeping the room at Granny’s. So that night was to be an experiment of how she would get on if she had to make a ‘home’ in the corner of the stacks for a while… at least until she had saved enough to be certain of securing an apartment of her own _and_ several months rent in hand. She was absolutely certain that the persistent lateness and often incorrect payments to her account were entirely intentional on the part of the mayor who clearly _didn’t_ want the town to have a library, or at the very least a library with Belle as the head librarian. 

She slept surprisingly well, and was happily folding up her blankets when an unfamiliar and yet known sound of shuffling footsteps accompanied by the tap of a cane announce the fact that she was no longer alone; a fact confirmed a moment later when the warmth of a soft brogue washed over her in concern.

“Miss Marchland,” he said, “Is everything all right?”

She turned, blushing as she saw the direction of his gaze, and awkwardly set the now folded blanket down on the short pile, and picked up the pillow she had used, hugging it to her chest in an attempt to hide the fact that she was wearing her pajamas and feeling thoroughly under-dressed under the scrutiny of the impeccably groomed town councilman, Mister Gold.

“Yes,” she said, not quite meeting his eyes, “Yes, of course. I just… I was working rather late last night. Got somewhat carried away, so I… well, I just decided that sleeping here was far less trouble than…”

She trailed off as his face remained unchanged, impassive. Certain that he had caught her in the lie of omission, she was embarrassed by both that, and by the reality of her financial position to boot. She blushed and almost apologetically explained, “Besides that, I’m… still looking for somewhere more permanent than Granny’s, and being here might help to… offset the cost of that, particularly as it’s taking a while to work out the glitches in payroll and get my salary to me on time.

He frowned then, as though he were utterly confused and said, “I don’t know if you’re aware that there’s a caretaker’s apartment for the library. If you’re interested I could certainly go and fetch with the keys. It would only take a moment.”

Belle tried not to let hope widen her eyes as much as she felt they had, but a caretaker’s apartment sounded perfect. It sounded relatively small, and hopefully would be within her budget. 

She was certain that he would see right through her. He seemed to have that knack. “I wouldn’t want to trouble you,” she said softly.

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all,” he told her. “My shop is just a few doors down the street, as I said, it won’t take but a moment.”

She offered him a somewhat awkward smile, and said, “Then… if you’re sure. Thank you. Yes.”

He nodded, which looked for all the world to her more like a miniature bow than a nod of affirmation, and then turned and began his measured steps toward the end of the row and just before he disappeared out of sight he half turned and added, “Oh, by the way, Miss Marchland, nice pajamas.”

She made a small squeak of mortification, and blushed scarlet, thankful that he turned away and wasn’t able to see its brightness on her cheeks, which only increased at the soft chuckle that followed his footsteps toward the door. She berated herself for being so foolish as to have left the door unlocked, and - once she heard it swing closed again - made a sudden scramble for the discarded clothes from yesterday and quickly began to pull them on, to at least be a little more decent when he returned with the keys.

As he had promised, it didn’t take him long, but by that time she had safely secreted all of the evidence of her nocturnal activities behind the circulation desk and was shuffling the index cards she had taken from the drawers that lined the wall the day before. It was an old fashioned way of cataloging the contents of the library, but she liked old fashioned. It was quaint, and fitted perfectly with the personality of the town and its library, but she still had to remove the cards for the books that had been too out of date to keep or damaged beyond repair. She looked up as Mister Gold shadow fell across the desk.

“Shall we?” he said, and gesturing toward the far, rear door of the library.

It was a door that Belle hadn’t really taken much notice of, assuming, from its placement that it was simply the fire exit, as the illuminated sign above it announced. So, she hadn’t ever bothered to open it.

He did so, gallantly holding the door for her to step through into a plain corridor with a staircase at one end and another door at the opposite end. At the top of the stairs was a small landing which held a single door, barely visible from their vantage point. She glanced toward the doorway then.

“The external access to the apartment,” he told her, then gestured towards the stairs. “The caretaker’s apartment is one bedroom, with an en suite bathroom - full bath and separate shower stall, and low flush toilet, all of which are newly installed. The living area has a full bay window to follow the shape of the library below, and is separated by an archway from the kitchen dining area, all quite spacious.”

As they climbed the stairs together he gave her the details of the apartment, and it gave her no little amusement that the councilman sounded more like a Realtor as he did so, and suddenly things started falling into place. Leroy had mentioned to her, after she had told him that Gold had been with the mayor those few weeks ago when she arrived with the paperwork, that the man was probably, ‘bending Regina’s ear.’ About one or another of the properties he owned. Belle suspected that RG Holdings, with whom she held the lease for the library, was a shell company for Mister Gold, Mister R. Gold.

As they crested the top of the stairs and stepped onto the landing, Belle turned her head and saw another set of stairs that disappeared up into a darkened space above.

“Those lead to the attic space and from there up into rear of the clock on the clock tower. You have no need to worry about being disturbed, I wouldn’t think. The clock hasn’t run for years, and so far as I know the mayor has no intention of having it repaired any time soon,” he said as if he could guess what was on her mind.

“I see,” she said and offered him a smile. “And… could the attic be used as storage space for the library?”

“If you so wish,” he answered, and stepped past her toward the apartment doorway, “so long as you don’t obstruct the stairs.”

“Of course,” she agreed as he pushed the key into the lock and opened up the door for her.

It was as though he had opened the doorway onto a magical land. What she had expected to be a dreary or at best an ordinary apartment beyond turned out to be a richly decorated, luxurious living space. The carpet underfoot had a thick, comfortable pile that cushioned every footstep. It’s color, that of a summer sky, which somehow perfectly complimented the rich mahogany inlaid shelves that framed either side of the bay window. The walls otherwise were a neutral shade, which served only to emphasize the perfect combination of the gold colored drapes and the richness of furnishings which seemed somehow to have been made for the apartment.

A low coffee table stood between a long, plush couch and twin over sized arm chairs upholstered in a soft gray and white fabric, angled as though for conversation. The bay window was fitted with a cushioned daybed, allowing for perfect lighting by which to read. Opposite the bay, an archway, in birch wood to match the gold of the drapes, led into the kitchen and dining area, the floor tiled to complement the living area.

The appliances in the kitchen looked newly installed; everything a person could need in a kitchen including hooded cooking range, a built in oven and microwave, and a large refrigerator as well as dishwasher and ample cabinet space for storing food as well as crockery and glasses.

It was more than she could have hoped for, but she couldn’t help the way her heart grew heavy and descended to her boots, because something like this, as beautiful as this, was bound to be outside of her price range.

Half dazed, she allowed Gold to show her the equally tasteful and immaculate bedroom, with built in closets, queen bed, and soft furnishings in burgundy and gold. The door to the en suite stood open and through it she could see the ornate claw foot tub, standing on faux-stone style tiles.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, sensing that Mister Gold had joined her after giving her some private moments to check out the apartment on her own. For just a moment she allowed herself to imagine living there, only snapping out of the daydream when Gold spoke.

“It was recently refurbished,” he confessed, “and redecorated.”

“I… almost daren’t ask,” she began hesitantly, and watched him frown as if in confusion, before he prompted her to go on.

“Ask?” he said.

“How… much would the rent…” She trailed off as his expression of confusion deepened, and she found herself blushing when he seemed to be searching for words, no doubt to try and let her down gently.

“I think you misunderstand me,” he said after a moment or two of awkward silence. “The apartment is included in the lease for the library. As the leaseholder, you already have the right to the use the living space. I’m guessing that you weren’t made aware of that?”

“No,” she breathed. “No, I wasn’t, not at all.”

“Forgive me,” he said softly, “An oversight on my part. I assumed that the mayor would have informed you of the full details of the property and library assets.”

“No, I… she said nothing,” Belle said, her eyes darkening with anger as she remembered Regina’s threat about the need to find a place to live or lose the librarian position, more convinced now that the mayor was trying to drive her away.

“All the more reason I should have checked in with you sooner,” Gold said apologetically, and held out the keys in her direction. “I’ll make arrangements to have the utilities connected today.”

Belle reached out to take the keys and his fingertips brushed against her hand as she took them from him. She felt her breath catch at the touch, but managed, somewhat breathlessly to utter a soft, “Thank you.”

He nodded acknowledgment and after offering assistance to help her move her things from Granny’s, which she politely refused, he said, “I’ll leave you to it then; go and contact the utility companies. In the meantime, if you need anything further, you may contact me at my shop.”

“Thank you, again,” she said. “If there’s anything else, I’ll be sure to come and find you.”

He gave the same kind of nod as before, that was almost a small, old fashioned bow, and said a quiet, “Good day, Miss Marchland,” before he turned and began to walk back toward the door.

Belle stood, cradling the keys in her hands, watching him walk away, hardly able to believe that things were suddenly falling into place. Acting on a sudden thought that came into her head, she called out after him before he reached the door.

“Mister Gold.”

He stopped and turned back to her. “Miss Marchland?”

“Do you read?”

He frowned softly, tilting his head slightly as though he were trying to understand her question and after a while he said, “I keep up with trade publications; a subscription to an antiques magazine, that kind of thing, but… fiction?”

She nodded. “Yes, you know, for fun?”

“Never really saw the point,” he said, going on to elaborate, “I could never understand why anyone would go to all the trouble of making up new people in the world when there are already so many whom I really despise.”


	16. News Travels Fast

It didn’t take Belle long to move her things over from Granny’s to the library apartment, as little as she had to bring. She was mid-move when she noticed that the utilities had been reconnected, and reminded herself to take a walk along to Mister Gold’s shop later to thank him for being so efficient. Thinking about _that_ also reminded her that should drop by the town hall too, to give the personnel office her permanent address. _Let’s see how the mayor likes_ those _apples_.

She chuckled to herself at the thought, but really more because of her happiness at being in the undeniably beautiful apartment - a place to call her own at last - and literally being right on her work’s doorstep.

Her stomach growled softly and she supposed she should visit the local grocer’s shop and buy supplies. She may have a working stove and a refrigerator now, but nothing to put in either, so picking up her purse, and the keys to both the library _and_ the apartment, she let herself out through the library so that she could ensure that the door was locked in her absence.

The sun was making a rare appearance and it helped to keep her already buoyed spirits even higher as she made her way down the street and in through the little door into the grocery store. She picked up a basket, which she hung over her arm as she made her way up and down the narrow rows of shelves, picking out a few essentials to keep her going for a couple of days. As she turned around the end of an aisle, she spotted the woman behind the counter, and her shock of red curly hair. Maggie, she remembered as she waved a hand in greeting.

“All right?” Maggie said in return. “Heard you’ve moved up in the world.”

Belle picked out some vegetables and set them into the basket along with her other supplies, and approached the counter, setting it there for Maggie to ring up.

“I’m sorry?” she said, confused.

“Moved out of Granny’s and into the apartment above the library,” Maggie said, beginning to take the items from the basket, tap away at the register before carefully packing Belle’s purchases into a paper bag.

“Ah,” Belle said and nodded. “Yes, that’s right. Wow, news really does travel fast around here.”

“Och,” Maggie dismissed her thought with a wave of her hand. “You should’nae worry. Folk around here’ve naught better to do wi’ their time than gossip.” She weighed Belle’s tomatoes, before keying the price into the register then asked, sounding as though she were trying to be offhand about it. “What’s it like up there?”

“The apartment?” Belle asked, just to be sure they were still speaking on the same topic.

“Aye,” Maggie confirmed. “No-one’s been in there since the last Librarian popped her clogs, gods rest her soul… and then _she_ took it on.”

Belle’s frown of confusion deepened. “She?” she asked.

Maggie leaned across the counter a little, lowering her otherwise booming voice to a near conspiratorial stage-whisper and said, “It’s all rumor I suppose, but they say that Gold’s _wife_ decided to gut the place, and—”

She pulled back looking guilty as the door opened and the mail man walked in. He nodded to Maggie before setting a small bundle of mail on the counter top beside the register, and with a polite smile as though aware that he had interrupted some kind of ‘moment’ between the two women, went out the way he’d come.

Belle raised an eyebrow in query at Maggie the moment the door closed, more intrigued than any other feeling, but it seemed the moment had gone, and Maggie bustled around for a moment as if trying to remember where she was in terms of Belle’s groceries as she said, “Well, I shouldn’t really be spreading rumors now, should I? Bad form all round.” She paused a moment before asking, “So?”

“So?” Belle’s head was beginning to spin with the speed at which Maggie kept changing the subject and mood so fast that she couldn’t keep up.

“Aye, the apartment. You were about to tell me what it’s like.”

“Oh, well,” Belle floundered a little, “It’s quite nice really. Better than I expected actually?”

“And it has central heating, right?” Maggie asked, as if suddenly concerned after Belle’s well being. “Only, I remember my da always used to say Miss Angela would always complain about the cold, and around here, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, that’s most of the time.”

“Oh, I… I see, and um… I’m not sure.”

“You mean ye didnae _ask_?” Maggie blurted. “Took on the place and didn’t even check to see if Gold was gonnae _freeze_ ye to death.” She shook her head, “What _else_ did you neglect to ask?”

“I’m… sure it will be fine. It’s quite obviously in a good state of repair, and I’m sure Mister Gold wouldn’t have forgotten something as important as basic amenities, like heating.”

“Aye,” Maggie said as if doubting, “Well… Will there be anything else?” 

Belle blinked and then realized that the chatty gossip that was the local shopkeeper had finished her calculations and was referring to her groceries.

“Oh, no,” she said. “Thank you.” Then, “Oh, wait… you wouldn’t happen to have any more of those bannocks, would you?”

“Of course,” Maggie ducked away into the back of the shop calling through, “How many do you want? They’ll keep in the refrigerator.”

“Um… two please. No - make that three, and could you wrap one separately.”

Maggie came back through carrying three bannocks, and slipped one into a paper bag on its own, with a raised eyebrow, and Belle couldn’t help blushing.

“As a thank you to Mister Gold,” she said.

Maggie nodded, as if she had known all along, then asked, “So… what do ye plan to do… for the library, I mean.”

Belle smiled and more in her element launched into regaling Maggie with details of all her plans, even those not quite fully formed as she said, “And I plan to have a children’s story time. To encourage young readers to the library, you know?”

“Aye, well, there are plenty of kids around here,” Maggie said. “Even the mayor, if you can believe it, has a wee boy. You should talk with Mary Margaret if ye can. Local school teacher. A wee bit too cheery for my tastes, but… all right in small doses, I suppose.”

“Thank you. I will,” Belle said, and started to turn to leave. She was half way down the length of the store when Maggie called after her, sounding almost embarrassed.

“You… you wouldn’t happen to have a copy of Margaret Peterson Haddix latest book? You know…? It’s the next in the series with Found in it… that had a plane on the cover. I started reading the series to my brothers and… well, I kinda got hooked.”

Belle gave a soft, internal sigh. She knew the book series to which Maggie was referring. A series that began with the sudden appearance of a plane, out of nowhere, and the passengers on board being babies - thirty-six of them. The series revolved around the adventures of some of the children thirteen years after they were found.

“I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head, “I don’t. I could get it, but it might take a while.”

“Oh, well,” Maggie said, clearly disappointed. “Never mind, then.”

A sudden thought occurred to Belle, and she said, “I think I know a book you might enjoy even more. I can put it aside, if you’d like.”

Maggie’s eyes narrowed, and she said, “I doubt it.”

“No, trust me on this one,” Belle said with a smile. She knew just the right book.

“I know the kind of things I like,” Maggie argued softly.

“Well,” Belle kept the smile on her face. She hoped that Maggie wouldn’t be as hard a convert as she seemed, and that she could get her to come to the library. “Perhaps I’ll see you over there anyway.”

She left the store then, and returned to the library, meaning to head to the outside access to the apartment and to put away her groceries, but when she drew near to the library, she saw quite the crowd had already gathered at the front doors. She altered her course, to arrive at the rear of the small group of people, attempting to make her way through to the doors.

“Excuse me,” she called out, and little by little was able to make her way to the doors, where she turned to face everyone and said, “It’s _really_ good to see you all.”

“We were hoping that you’d be opening the library,” Doctor Hopper seemed to have been appointed spokesman for the eager townsfolk.

“I will, yes,” Belle said, shifting her bag of groceries to the other arm, as she tried to unlock the doors so that she could set them down. “But just at the moment, I’m still reorganizing everything. It shouldn’t be much longer though.”

A sudden cacophony of voices erupted as everyone seemed to forget that the town psychiatrist was supposed to be speaking for them, and as soon as Belle got the doors open, like a tide they swept her into the library, almost pinning her to the circulation desk.

“Please, everyone… one at a time,” she called above the sudden noise.  
  
She had to repeat herself, but eventually the voices died down to a murmur and Doctor Hopper spoke again.

“We don’t mean to pressure you, Miss Marchland,” he said, “It’s just that it’s been so long since we had a library, I think we’re all… anxious to use it.”

Belle smiled. “I feel the same,” she said. “I promise you I will open just as soon as I have everything in place. She set the groceries down at last, and instead picked up a sheaf of registration cards. “In the meantime, perhaps I can ask you to take one of these with you, fill it out and return it. I’ll put a box outside for you to slip them into. That way as soon as I _do_ open, you’ll be able to just come in right away and get started.”

Once again she was almost swarmed by eager townsfolk, who took the cards and hurried off with them, and she smiled to herself as she expected there would be many cards in the box for her to process by the morning.

Before he left, Doctor Hopper gave Belle a nod, and said quietly, “This really _is_ what everyone needs, Belle. Thank you.”

She gave him a smile as he left, and was about to pick up her groceries to take them up to the apartment to put away before coming back down to the library to start work again, when she spotted an older woman lingering by the doorway, keeping hold of an unruly toddler who was trying her best to escape the woman’s grasp. The old woman was also holding the hand of a quieter, older child. 

Belle frowned softly.

“May I help you?” she asked.

“I know you said you aren’t open yet, but… I um…” She tugged on the toddler who was still trying her best to free herself. “I live right by the edge of town, the small house by the park - far too small for all these children.”

Belle blinked in surprise, “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

“Sorry,” the woman apologized, as if only then remembering that Belle was new in town. “For some reason, there are a lot of orphans in Storybrooke, and… well, I foster a lot of them until homes can be found.”

“Oh, I see,” Belle felt her heart begin to soften as understanding dawned.

“And, you see, they get like this with nothing to do,” she gave a little shake to still-struggling toddler. “When we had the library before…”

She trailed off, but Belle understood, and held up a hand. “I think I have just the thing,” she said. “Wait here.”

She left the old woman standing by the desk and walked into the children’s section of the library - or what she was setting up to be the children’s section - and grabbed a handful of _Magic Treehouse_ books, returning with them to the woman, and offering them to her, even cognizant that she had no hands with which to take them.

Instead, the old woman nudged the older child who was still standing quietly, and he reached out to take the books from Belle.

“I think these might help,” Belle said. “They’re great to read aloud to children, but also easy enough that older children can read them themselves, or to the other, younger children.” She offered a smile, then added, “There are more, somewhere. When I find them I’ll be sure to bring them over.”

“Oh,” the woman seemed to be quite beside herself at the gesture. “Thank you. You’re a godsend.”

Belle shook her head, moving to hold open the door for the woman and children. “It’s my pleasure. Please be sure to come back if I can help with anything else. Something for _you_ perhaps.”

The old woman nodded, and then left, all but dragging the toddler behind her, the sound of her giving the unruly child a talking to diminishing as they got further away. Belle sighed, and let the door swing shut, leaning on it for a moment.

She was about to turn the lock when a man’s voice from the end of one of the stacks made her jump almost out of her skin.

“Well, Miss Marchland, it seems you’ve made quite the impression around here.”

She spun around, relaxing only slightly when she heard the tap of Mister Gold’s cane as he came closer, but offered him a wan smile none-the-less.

“Mister Gold,” she greeted him. “You gave me quite the fright.”

“My apologies, that was never my intention,” he said as he came to a halt, setting the cane on the floor between his slightly spread feet, and leaning both hands on the handle. “I merely came to check that everything was working now as it should be; in the apartment, I mean.”

Belle’s smile brightened. “Oh, yes. Thank you,” she said with genuine enthusiasm. “Actually, I was going to come and see you to thank you in person, but then…” she gestured at the door to the library again to intimate the people that had just left. “…well, I was delayed.”

“Indeed,” he said pleasantly enough, but with a faint smirk on his face. “Well if there’s nothing else I can help you with…”

He had taken a step toward the door before Belle remembered the gift she had for him, and called out, “Actually, Mister Gold…”

He stopped, and swiveled back around to face her, “Miss Marchland?”

“Well, I have something for you,” she said and reached into the bag for the individually packaged bannock. “As a thank you for getting everything done so promptly.”

“No need,” he said in answer, but took the bag she held out to him all-the-same. “As your landlord it’s my duty to see to such things.”

“Even so,” she said with another smile. “It was very thoughtful of you.”

She watched as he opened the bag and peered inside.

“A bannock.” He identified it immediately, and she thought she saw the hint of something flash through his eyes. “How quaint.”

“It’s just,” she shrugged, “I had one before; recommended to me as a matter of fact, and… well… I thought you might like one.”

“It was very good of you, Miss Marchland,” he said. “I do, actually, quite enjoy a good bannock every now and again.”

“Then I’m glad to have gotten one for you,” she said, feeling a faint blush come to her cheeks. “So, um… did you want to come up and make sure of everything yourself?”

He gave her a slight frown. “I don’t think that will be necessary,” he said, “I trust your word, and I’m certain that you’ll let me know if you have a problem with anything.”

“I will,” she said.

“Well then, Miss Marchland,” he said with a nod of his head, “I’ll bid you good day, and um… thank you. For the bannock, of course.”


	17. Contemplations

Although she had made a promise to the people of Storybrooke to get the library open as quickly as possible, as Belle stepped outside of the library the following morning to empty the box of registration cards - which she had been correct to assume would be numerous - she discovered that the good weather of the previous day had continued. Not only that, but it seemed as though it was going to be even better. As she flicked through the cards, glancing at the names, she decided it was the perfect day to take a walk around her new town. She went back inside the library, locked the door behind her and set the cards on the circulation desk. Then she went back up to the apartment, grabbed a light jacket, just in case, and slipped it into a little backpack style purse with the rest of her things, then left her home for a day of exploring.

At first she walked up and down the length of the high street, window shopping in the various stores that Storybrooke had to offer because it struck her that, even though only a relatively _short_ while, in all the time that she _had_ been there, she hadn’t really ever done that. She had fallen in love with the _ambiance_ of the town without really knowing what it had to offer. What _was_ there, she found, was very limited, but it was useful to find the Dark Star Pharmacy, and she promised herself that she would take a proper look around the clothing store just as soon as she had more time. The walk around was to get a general ‘lie of the land’ kind of feel, and little by little she found herself falling even deeper into love with the place.

_Useful Places In Storybrooke_. She began to make herself a list: The hospital (in case she ever needed a doctor), since it seemed like the _only_ place to go if one were injured or sick. Granny’s (of course); the Dark Star Pharmacy, because well… there were only so many times one could buy what was needed from the irrepressible Maggie, and they also seemed to sell stationary and hardware; the Marine Garage, because if the van ever broke down she would need someone to fix it.

Then there were the _not so useful_ places. Although she liked flowers, loved the way they brightened up a place, Belle decided she would steer clear of Game of Thorns. Perhaps that was more because of her first impressions of the proprietor, Moe French, who had nearly swindled her into ‘subleasing’ a van, and action for which she had no right. She found that a part of her felt as offended as Mister Gold had seemed to be when he’d caught the two of them in the midst of making that deal, and she was eternally thankful to whatever gods were listening that Gold did not seem to have apportioned any blame to _her_ in that regard. Maybe she _should_ have listened to Maggie after all. However, there was another part of her, an _instinctive_ part that simply… had a bad feeling about the whole place, so, although it was the town’s only florist, if she wanted fresh flowers for the apartment or the library, she’d simply have to drive to the next town. Another of the places that made her sense of wrongness tingle down her spine was the town’s apparently only venue for nightlife: The Rabbit Hole. Even from the outside, the place looked like a shady spot. So much so that even though it appeared open for daytime business, and it might have been nice to have a drink on such a pleasant day even - a glass of wine perhaps - if she did not often partake, she shuddered at the thought of going inside without an armed escort.

She also found her way to the Sheriff’s office, which she would put on neither list really, and which she hoped _not_ to need to contact all that often, but she had decided that she would go and re-introduce herself to the local Sheriff under less stressful circumstances than before, and found Graham Humbert to be a very gracious man, who promised to make sure that he kept a weather eye on the library.

The last place her feet took her in her morning wanderings was to the window of the pawn shop. She wasn’t about to go inside, even though the sign said ‘open’ because she didn’t really need to talk to Mister Gold, so didn’t want him to think that she was stalking him or something. Besides, frankly, she found him snarky and more than a little bit irritating even though, for some unknown reason, she seemed to keep bumping into him in the most unlikely of places, and when she did, found herself drawn to him in some intangible kind of way. So she stayed outside, hands cupped around her face to peer inside at the absolute treasure trove of _things_ , and knickknacks, and possessions of _every_ kind. She was fascinated.

Just as she was about to talk herself into perhaps taking a look around inside anyway, her stomach growled loudly, reminding her that she had skipped breakfast, and that since it was now approaching noon, she really had better eat something. It was only a short walk after all from Gold’s shop to Granny’s, and so she turned and headed that way.

After lunch, in which she had convinced herself that she would like to see places further _out_ in Storybrooke, she took out the keys to the van, and went for a drive. Thus, she found the park, the cemetery, found her _own_ way to the warehouse at the docks, that she’d last seen from the cab of Hunters big rig, and was eminently surprised to find that Storybrooke was also the proud possessor of a convent, of all places. That had come as a _great_ surprise. She recognized the road that had taken her past the establishment as the one that would ultimately lead out of town to the sign, and the bend, and the tree where she had left the book for Hunter, and became intensely curious to find out whether he had driven past and seen it.

_No time like the present to find out_ , she mused, and so after slowing to a stop to peer at the convent building, she put the van back in gear, and set off toward the town line. Soon enough, she was approaching ‘The Bend.’ She chuckled to herself a little bit as she decided to name the spot that had been both the cause of many troubles, and the beginning of everything working out. It seemed funny to her how that strange balance seemed to exist a lot around her. Not always immediately, and certainly not often in a comfortable manner, but it was as though she lived her life according to a pendulum, or better yet, a teeter totter.

She slowed the van to a crawl, in case of other traffic, or more deer, since it was, after all, the afternoon, and as she did, she noticed that the bag she had left attached to the tree was no longer there, but in its place a grubby white sack, the kind in which root vegetables might be kept, was nailed in its place. On the outside of the bag her name, _Belle_ , written in shaky letters, no doubt made worse by the fabric on which they were written stood out starkly. She pulled the van into the break in the trees, that she had at first thought of as a driveway, but which didn’t seem to go anywhere but into the forest, and stopped the engine, opening the door to get out.

Immediately she was surrounded by the peace and serenity of the forest. The buzz of insects, the cheeping of frogs and the faint splash of water, and in the distance, probably from some far off farm, the soft bleat of sheep, calling to one another. Above it all, in the light breeze the leaves, just unfurling from their winter sleep, rustled softly, as though in welcome. Something told her she was meant to be there.

She closed the door to the van, not bothering to lock it because, out there, who would come along to steal it - besides which, it had sat there for a longer time than the few minutes she thought she’d be there, while she went to Boston and back - and made her way carefully to the tree. She pulled out the nail, by virtue of wiggling it back and forth for a while, to release the bag containing her prize, set it down on the ground and opened it up to see what was inside. The contents were simply a book, and a hand written note, which she read first.

It was from Karrl, and it was a kind of apology - of sorts - and said, “ _Miss Belle, Hunter says I should apologize, so this is it. I’m sorry I got mad at you and called you names. I shouldn’t have done that, but I was shaken up by nearly running into you like we did. Hunter says that we can make it up to you by bringing up those books you left in Boston, that you were telling him about. Let us know, yeah? Here’s my contact info_.” and it was followed by a legible - _gods be praised_ , she thought - email address.

She tucked the note into a pocket of her purse as she pulled it from her back, and then took the book out of the sack, which she then folded and also stuffed into her purse rather than litter and leave it in the countryside for the deer to eat. She looked at the cover of the book; a book of poetry by Victor Hugo, entitled _Les Contemplations_ \- Thoughts - she automatically translated, although the English ‘contemplations’ would have done just as well. There was a poem marked with a worn piece of ribbon, and opening it to the page it marked she read, “Je dormais en effet, et tu me réveillas.” She raised an eyebrow, wondering if Hunter meant some hidden message to tell her that she had somehow woken him from sleep - from a dream? She sighed softly, temporarily closing the book with the ribbon still in place, and looked for a place to sit and read.

She spotted it almost at once, a wide branch in the tree that curved, almost like a natural hammock, it shouldn’t be too hard to climb to, even dressed as she was, and besides, there was no one around to see if she hiked up her skirt, as she would need to do to climb. It took some little effort, as her feet kept slipping on the bark, but eventually she managed to sit, nestled against the trunk, her feet stretched out before her, crossed at the ankles, as she nestled as in the arms of Nature. It was perfect, so long as she didn’t lose herself too much in the poetry and fall. Falling would not be too much of a problem on the one side, because it wasn’t much further than the height of a man from the grassy verge. The other side however, beyond the tree, if she were to fall _that_ way, would deposit her onto the rock strewn, muddy bank of the creek in which she had heard the frogs singing. It certainly _wouldn’t_ do to fall that way.

Still, in the shelter of the tree, it was warm and sun-dappled, a place to forget her cares, and turn her attention back to the poem Hunter had marked for her.

Je dormais en effet, et tu me réveillas.  
Je te criai: «Salut!» et tu me dis: «Hélas!»  
Et cet instant fut doux, et nous nous embrassâmes;  
Nous mêlâmes tes pleurs, mon sourire et nos âmes.

Ces temps sont déjà loin; où donc alors roulait  
Ma vie? et ce destin sévère qui me plaît,  
Qu'est-ce donc qu'il faisait de cette feuille morte  
Que je suis, et qu'un vent pousse, et qu'un vent remporte?*

The sudden sound of a car horn ripped her from her immersion in the words, both in their original French and in English. She tried to ignore it, and read on, but it sounded again, and again and a third time.

She looked over the edge of the tree branch to see a black Cadillac that was evidently trying to pass where she had parked the van. She was certain there was room for the driver to pass, and she called down to him.

“You should be fine!” she said “Just drive past!”

The driver honked the horn again, and she sighed and called out the same thing over again. Then she heard the slam of a car door, followed by the a-rhythmic crunch of footsteps. The driver had three legs? The moment before she heard his voice she realized who the driver was.

“Miss Marchland,” Gold called up. “What the _hell_ are you doing up there. Come down!”

“Reading,” she amswered him, “Not that it’s any of your business, but that’s what I’m doing, and if you’re trying to get past, there’s _plenty_ of room.”

“Because of course you’re an expert in the proportions of my vehicle,” he snarked.

“I have a better vantage point from up here, that’s all,” she assured him with exaggerated patience. “So no, I won’t come down because I don’t need to move the van.” She opened the book of poetry again and added, “Good day, Mister Gold.”

He was not, apparently, to be deterred.

“As a matter of fact, Miss Marchland, your ‘better vantage point,’ is somewhat precarious,” he said, “Or perhaps you didn’t notice, while you were climbing, that the tree is quite dead, and the branch on which you’re sitting _riddled_ with dry rot.”

As if to prove a point he reached out a hand and snapped off one of the smaller, lower branches that she’d used as leverage to get herself _up_ into the tree, with ease.

“Oh,” she said simply.

“Indeed,” he agreed. After a moment or more of awkward silence, he asked, “Well, are you going to come down, or do I have to go and mobilize the fire department.”

“Of course not,” she grumbled, shuffling to the edge of the branch and realizing that she was going to have to hitch her skirt up again in order to get down safely - especially now that Gold had taken away one of her foot holds. “Just… turn around!” she ordered.

“Miss Marchland,” he told her, his tone smug, “I was a married man for quite some time, I can assure you, I’ve seen a woman’s legs before.”

“Not _mine_ you haven’t,” she retorted. “Turn around.”

He sighed, “As you wish.”

She waited while he turned his back, and then tucking the book beneath her arm - because it wouldn’t do to simply drop it onto the ground - she tugged up her skirt to give herself a better range of motion, and began to shimmy down.

Absent the branch that Gold had broken from the tree, she had to jump the last little way, and she landed awkwardly, stumbling. He must have heard that she had, and faster than she would have thought he could move he turned and reached out to steady her, even as her hand came into contact with his chest.

She blushed at her own clumsiness, and at the fact of the sudden feeling that her hand was on fire where it pressed against him, beside his tie-clip, and she snatched it away. He was slower to let go. Not releasing her until she was more steady on her feet, and and she murmured an apologetic, ‘Thank you.’ He nodded, but said nothing.

The silence was once again awkward, so to try and break the silence she asked, “Did you fill out a registration card, Mister Gold?”

He looked at her than as though she had grown an extra head. “Do I need to?” he asked, non-plussed.

For some inexplicable reason his response made her angry. Did he think he was above reading; using the library? Did he think it was mainly bored housewives that read books?

“You know, women find men that read quite attractive! You should try it some time,” she snapped.

He gave her a steady look, with a slightly raised eyebrow, and answered dismissively, “Do they?”

She decided not to answer, because she was already blushing enough, and let silence fall between them again. It was a silence that Mister Gold did not seem to want to break either. Someone did though - or rather some _thing_.

A sudden, whining bark sounded out of nowhere, and made Belle jump. She turned to face the Cadillac as Gold stepped back to it and opened up the back door, releasing the black and white Collie from the back of the car. It hurried to the nearest tree and lifted its leg.

“Oh,” Belle said. “I didn’t know you had a dog.”

Gold sighed. “Miss Marchland,” he said somewhat smugly, “there are a great _many_ things you do not know about me, and I am quite content to keep it that way.” He snapped his fingers and the dog trotted obediently to his side, to sit at heel.

“He’s a beautiful dog,” she said.

“He is a _working_ dog,” Gold corrected her, but she ignored his words, and held out a hand toward the animal. The dog sniffed at the offered hand, and his tail began thumping the ground behind him. Belle crouched down and fussed behind his ears, which only increased the speed of the thumping until a small cloud of dust flew up around him.

“He’s still beautiful,” she said, “And clever.”

“And you’d know this…?”

She shrugged, and eventually said, “Well, you can’t _be_ a working dog and be stupid now, can you?”

Apparently, Gold decided not to answer, instead telling her, “If there is nothing _else_ I can do to save you from yourself, Miss Marchland, the dog and I have work to do.”

“Of course,” she said, blushing again as Gold looked at her as if expectant of something. “Good afternoon then.”

Gold sighed again. “The van?”

“Yes, right.”

Embarrassed she became flustered, and almost dropped the book as she fished around in her purse for the van keys. If her landlord noticed, he said nothing, simply walked to his car, and with a hand signal, ordered the dog inside, closing the door behind it. By that time Belle had the keys, and was settling herself in the van.

It took her a moment to start the engine, and a few moments longer to reverse the van out of the gravel entryway and back onto the road. Once she was out of the way, she stopped the van, and raised a hand in an awkwardly cheery wave to Mister Gold. He did not return the wave, and a moment later, he was in the Cadillac, and driving slowly and carefully down the track.

Belle wondered where it led, but decided that today was _not_ the day to follow him and find out. There would be plenty of other days to solve the mystery of the landlord and his working dog. Instead she pulled out the piece of paper from her purse and looked at the email address on the page, allowing the romance of the poetry that Hunter had sent to her to sweep away the lingering unpleasantness of Gold’s unending sarcasm.

* * *

  
*I was indeed sleeping, and you woke me up.  
I shouted to you: "Hi!" and you say to me: "Alas!"  
And that moment was sweet, and we kissed;  
We mixed your tears, my smile and our souls.

These times are long gone; where then rolled  
My life? and this severe fate that I like,  
What was he doing with this dead leaf  
Who am I, and a wind pushes, and a wind wins?

(Translation of the French: _To Jules J_. by Victor Hugo December 1854)


	18. The Spy Who Loves Books

Belle wasn’t normally someone to watch the clock. It was approaching 11 pm. Just a half hour before she could leave, make her way to the docks so that she’d be already there by midnight; ready and waiting to receive her contraband.

She pulled her black sweatshirt down over her jogging pants - also black - feeling more like a cat burglar than a librarian, especially when she considered the woolen hat, that sat beside her keys, that she would wear to cover her head.

All a bit of a waste really, since the van was white.

With a sigh she considered changing, but didn’t really have the time. Instead, she shrugged off the thought, and allowed the adventure of the night to wash over her. It would be like a game, and at the end of it, she’d have the all books she needed to fill the empty shelves in the library. Better yet, she would get to see Hunter again, and be able to thank him for the fascinating, if darkly romantic, book of poems.

She turned out the lights in the apartment to better see the almost empty streets of Storybrooke, looking up and down to see who might be out and about at such an hour, and figuring anyone that _might_ be about was probably on their way from - or to - the Rabbit Hole. She shivered at the thought.

She was about to turn away from the window when she spotted that the light was on in Mister Gold’s shop, and not for the first time she wondered at what kind of hours he kept, and what he actually _did_.

He was an intriguing, if annoying - she hadn’t yet forgiven him for his behavior out by the tree the other day - mystery to her. He owned property, by all accounts most of Storybrooke if the rumors were to be believed; he was a councilman who seemed to have the ear of the mayor, or at the very least had something he could hold over her to _encourage_ her to do his bidding; he kept the local pawn shop, and most incongruous of all, she deduced he must keep some kind of farm, probably sheep, with a working dog like the one with which she’d seen him. None of it fit together. It just didn’t make sense.

He didn’t make sense. Most people hated him, and as grumpy as he was, as sarcastic and unpleasant as he could be, she could see why, and yet in between his moments of unpleasantness he had saved her from losing her job not once, but twice. He had even been pleasant, polite, and even flirty - if commenting on her pajamas the time he caught her in the library could be called flirting.

By the time 11:30 came around the light was _still_ on and she wondered once more what the man was up to as she turned away from the window and headed out of the apartment. Chuckling to herself a little, she gave thought to enlisting his help to carry the boxes of books from the van into the library if he were still up when she returned, but no, _that_ could wait for morning.

It wasn’t a long drive from the library to the dock. Nowhere in Storybrooke was really a long drive from one place to another. She parked the van in a shadowed corner of the warehouse yard, not wanting to be seen and ordered to move on by the cannery workers if anyone grew suspicious about why she was there. The yard was empty, which meant that Hunter and Karrl hadn’t yet arrived, so she pulled the blanket she kept in the passenger seat around her shoulders, and settled in to wait; losing herself in daydreams.

The loud roar and rumble of the heavy truck woke her from a near sleep and she berated herself. _Daydreams, Belle, are the fantasies you have when you’re_ not _asleep_. She opened up her window to waken herself fully - though the sudden jolt of adrenaline had gone a long was to doing that already, and waited, watching as first Karrl, then Hunter climbed down from the truck’s cab. Her heart flipped when she saw him, remembering the long drive to Boston, the soft voice, the teasing banter as they had eaten up the miles of the road.

She watched as they began unloading the legitimate cargo with a practiced efficiency, ignoring the part of her that wanted to rush over and announce herself. No, there would be time for that later, when the doors to the cannery were closed again, and there was no one to see that Hunter was carrying illicit cargo along with the meat and other foodstuffs for the cannery to process.

Time seemed to drag, and through the open window of the van she could hear the faint murmur of voices, and strained her ears to try and make out the words.

“…rest up a… we head back…” She thought it was Hunter’s voice, and though she missed several of the words, she could make out the gist of what he was telling the cannery workers.

“…to pull it… the loading… then.” A cannery worker’s voice, and she saw Hunter nod, whatever he might have replied to the man lost in a gust of wind blowing off the bay.

She fidgeted impatiently and began to feel as though all of her limbs were on fire and so, when the shutters of the cannery were pulled down, and Hunter closed the doors on the back of the truck, the rush of relief she felt was almost tangible, and she became breathless with the anticipation of speaking with Hunter again.

She opened the door to the van, and stepped out into the chill night air, watching as Hunter and Karrl did the opposite, climbing back _into_ their cab, and after a moment the rumbling of the truck’s engine subsumed the sound of the wind and the surf. They didn’t move the truck very much. Just far enough away from the loading dock that if anyone else arrived with a delivery, there would be room for them to reach it and deliver their goods. She hoped that no one would, at least not until they were all on their way once more, their clandestine activity remaining undiscovered.

As soon as the big rig’s engine fell to silence once more, Belle quickly crossed the space between where she had parked, and where Hunter was already climbing down from the cab. His smile when he saw her made Belle feel warm inside, a tingling that gathered at her center and spread through her limbs.

“It’s good to see you,” Belle said with a huge smile on her face as she drew near enough.

“I have counted the hours from Boston in anticipation of seeing you again,” Hunter answered, and she caught Karrl rolling his eyes.

Belle closed hers and Hunter reach out briefly to cup her cheek in a gentle hand, and stoke his thumb over her cheek bone, losing herself in the touch until the loud clearing of a throat dragged her back to the moment; Hunter too, it seemed, as he snatched his hand away and straightened somewhat stiffly.

“Come,” he said. “Open up your little van, and we will load the books for you.” He grinned then, and added, “And then… I have a surprise for you.”

“Oh?” Belle asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

“Wait and see,” Hunter chuckled, and as Belle moved to open up the back of the van, he and Karrl began passing boxes between then, bringing them to the van and somehow fitting the many, _many_ boxes seamlessly into the back of it. Mid way through, Hunter left Karrl to do the loading and beckoned to Belle.

“Come with me,” he said, his voice taking on a mysterious tone. She frowned in suspicious confusion, but followed him non-the-less to the cab door, which he opened, before turning to face her.

“Did you bring something for me?” she asked, as he stepped up into the doorway and cleared his throat loudly. “You already did so much for me, you shouldn’t—”

“Not something,” he said, hopping down again. “Some _one_.”

As he finished speaking, Belle spotted movement inside the cab, before, barely a moment later, Ruby, in a skirt that was far too short and tight for climbing in and out of trucks, struggled down to the ground.

“Ruby!” Belle squeaked, forgetting the need to be quiet. “Oh my gods!”

Ruby practically threw herself at Belle and gathered her up into a hug so tight that Belle almost couldn’t breathe.

“What are you _doing_ here?” Belle asked.

Ruby chuckled and pulled back so that the two of them could see one another.

“Well,” she teased, “If you don’t want me here, I can always—”

“No,” Belle said quickly, “Of _course_ I want you here. I just… how?”

“I was owed a bunch of vacation time,” Ruby told her. “I had to use it or lose it, so when Hunter came round for the books, he suggested that I should ride up here with them. Can’t let you have all the fun to yourself in this little place,” she added with a grin.

Belle hugged her again. “I can’t wait to show you around,” she said, as Hunter stepped back down from the cab with a large suitcase in hand, walking off to somehow fit it in the back of the van among the boxes. Belle linked her arm through Ruby’s as the two of them followed, sighing softly as she watched Hunter start helping Karrl again with the transfer of the packaged books.

“Jeez, Belle,” Ruby said, breaking in on her thoughts that were rapidly turning lascivious. “Could you be any more obvious with your goo-goo eyes?”

“Ruby!” she hissed.

“What?” Ruby said pointedly, “You’ve done nothing by ogle mister tall-dark-and-handsome over there.”

“I have _not_ ,” she protested. “It’s not like that. He’s just a nice man doing me a _huge_ favor, that’s all.”

“Uh-huh,” Ruby said dryly, disbelieving and Belle couldn’t help but blush. “I’ll… wait in the van; give you a chance to thank lover-boy without my overprotective best-friend stare.”

“Ruby, honestly, it _isn’t_ like that,” she repeated.

Ruby raised an eyebrow and with a soft, “We’ll see,” headed to the passenger door of the van, and Belle realized how tired she must be. She probably worked a full day before catching her late-night ride to be with her. She felt suddenly conflicted, guilty, but more than glad to see her.

“We’re almost there.”

Hunter’s voice pulled her own of her sudden worry for her friend and she turned to face him with a smile.

“It’s going to be tight, but I think we can fit everything in,” he said. “Do you have someone in town that can help you unload?”

Belle’s thoughts strayed to Leroy, but her traitorous mind also considered telling Hunter that she didn’t to see if he would offer to come to town with her and help her unload as well. It couldn’t happen of course, she knew that, but it didn’t stop her mind descending into fantasy for a moment.

“I’ll be fine,” she told him at last. “I don’t know how to thank you for doing this.”

He smiled softly, and reached out to tuck a strand of hair back under her black, woolen hat.

“You already have,” he told her. 

She smiled. “I loved the poetry you left for me. I didn’t expect that.”

“Ah,” he said. His tone became dreamy as he quoted, “All that can tempt an ambitious heart…”

And then they spoke together, he in English, and she in French.

“…Was there before me, on earth and in the heavens.”

“…Était là, devant moi, sur terre et dans les cieux.”

He chuckled softly, a warm sound. “I had no idea you knew the poem.”

She shook her head. “I didn’t, but…” she trailed off leaving the rest of what she might have said unspoken.

“If you’d like to,” he told her, leaning closer, “you could leave me books, on the tree, like before - whenever you think of me.”

“I’d like that,” she murmured in response. “I shall think of you all the time.”

Hunter did not get the chance to answer. Karrl had finished loading the last of the boxes into the van, and seemingly oblivious to what he was interrupting, strode over to the two of them and announced loudly, “We need to get going if we’re gonna make our last delivery on time. I don’t want another late penalty.” Then he stalked off again to climb into the cab and settle himself in the passenger seat.

“Forgive my rude friend,” Hunter said to Belle. Then he sighed, “But, alas, he is right. I must take my leave of you.”

As he spoke, he reached for her hand and lifted it to his lips to bestow a soft kiss to her knuckles, and without another word, turned and sauntered to the truck’s cab. Belle stood, as if transfixed, watching him climb in; seeing the truck come to life under his skilled hands, and sighed softly as he slowly pulled away.

Without the truck there to shelter her from the ocean breeze, Belle shivered, and her stupor dissipated in the stiff, chill wind. She turned and climbed into the van, returning to her friend, who was already sleeping.


	19. Secrets and Surprises

It was by mutual agreement that Belle and Ruby decided to leave the boxes of books in the van until morning. As it was, it took the two of them to get Ruby’s suitcase out from where it was carefully _nestled_ between said boxes, but eventually they were able to release it and make their way up to the library apartment.

“You want some tea?” Belle asked quietly as she closed the door behind Ruby. Instead of answering, Ruby turned full circle, wide eyed, and Belle watched as she took in the details of the apartment.

“Holy Crap, Belle,” she said finally turning round to look at her friend. “This place is… it’s amazing.”

Belle blushed, for some reason that she couldn’t at all understand.

“When you told me it was the caretaker’s apartment I had visions of… bare concrete walls and threadbare carpets… leaky sinks and the like, but this… this is luxury. Wow did _you_ ever land on your feet!”

Belle chuckled, and muttered, “Maybe he really _did_ like my pajamas?”

“What now?” Ruby frowned, “Who?”

Belle shook her head. “Never mind,” she said softly, “I’ll maybe tell you some time, but it’s late, and we have a lot to do tomorrow. You want some tea?”

Ruby shook her head and yawned, as though the mention of it being late had somehow reminded her of how tired she was.

“No thank you,” she said, “Actually I’m pretty beat.” When she turned to look at Belle though, her face creased in a frown and she said, “But I know that face.”

With a smile Belle said, “Why don’t _you_ take the bed tonight. I’m too wired to sleep, and I don’t want to keep you awake with my nocturnal wanderings.” When Ruby raised an eyebrow, either at her choice of words, or at her offer, she added, “No, really, it’s all right. Just for tonight, though.”

“All right, Night Owl,” Ruby said, and picked up her suitcase, “Keep your secrets. Which way’s the bedroom, and the bathroom?”

Belle pointed her in the right direction, and then took herself into the kitchen area to make tea, chuckling when she heard Ruby’s squawk of surprise when the other woman discovered the opulent bathroom. The kettle clicked off and Belle poured the boiling water over a diffuser of chamomile leaves, and left it to steep while she went to get herself a pillow and blankets from the linen closet that was just inside the bedroom. Ruby was already dead to the world.

She closed the door quietly behind her and sat down with her latest book, and the cup of tea, but no matter what she did, nothing could banish the restlessness she felt. She set down the book, after only managing to read page or two, and not really having taken anything in, and wandered over to the window with the dregs of her tea.

There she blinked in surprise. Although it was well past one in the morning, maybe even going on two, the light in Gold’s shop was _still_ blazing. Did the man _ever_ sleep?

Making a sudden decision, Belle put down her tea cup on the kitchen counter and grabbed her coat from the rack beside the door. Then, picking up her keys, she quietly let herself out of the apartment. Even in the short amount of time she and Ruby had been back from the docks, it had grown considerably colder, and so she turned up the collar of her coat, and pulled it tightly around her as she made her way across the road and a little way down the street.

Just as she drew level with Gold’s car, which was parked at the side of the building, Gold flicked off the light and appeared to be hurrying out of the shop, so quickly it seems, that he didn’t see her until he turned from locking the door.

He started slightly, gripping the handle of his cane as though he were about to raise it in self defense, and then apparently recognizing her, in spite of her dark and swaddled appearance, he greeted her somewhat curtly.

“Miss Marchland,” he said, then, “What the _hell_ are you doing up at this late hour?”

“Actually, that’s what _I_ was coming over to ask you, or at least to find out if you were all right, hadn’t… keeled over from a heart attack in your shop with no one there to find you ‘til morning.” She couldn’t help the way she snapped back at him and his unfriendly greeting.

“Well, I’m truly gratified for your concern,” he said dryly, “but as you can see, I’m quite well. What on Earth would make you think such a thing?”

“Your light?” She nodded at the now dark pawn shop. “I know you keep… odd hours, but I’ve never seen it on quite so late before, so I thought…” She shrugged and trailed off.

“Oh, so now you’re keeping and _eye_ on me too?” he snarked.

“No I just,” she began, “Sometimes, I just can’t—” she stopped herself. “Anyway, we’re not talking about me, we’re talking about you.”

“Are we indeed?” he interjected, but she was riled now, and wouldn’t be deterred.

“So, where are you rushing off to in the wee hours of the morning?” She regretted her phrasing almost as soon as it was out of her mouth, and sure enough his already thunderous face darkened even more.

“Are you mocking me?” he asked, but went on without giving her a chance to apologize and assure him that she was not. “If you must know, I had a call from an associate, who seems to think that one of the ewes is having difficulties with birthing her lamb. I’m going to go and see if I can help before we call for the vet.” He paused in his diatribe then, as if suddenly remembering his manners, though he was still curt as he bid her, “So, good night, Miss Marchland.”

“I’ll leave you to it then,” she said as he stalked past her heading for the door to the Cadillac. He gave no indication that he’d heard a word she said, and she didn’t move, watching him as he got to the driver’s door and unlocked it.

Then, he looked up at her and said, “And yet… still here.”

She held up her hands with a sigh, and a very insincere, “Okay, okay, I’m sorry.” Then in the light from the street lamp watched as his face almost softened, while frowning at the same time.

“Actually, Miss Marchland, _I’m_ sorry,” he said. “The worry has made me forget my manners, but that’s no excuse. Would you… like to come with me?”

“To the sheep?”

“Yes,” he confirmed. “We might be able to use a small pair of hands.”

She looked at him dubiously for a moment, but then shrugged and joined him in getting into the car. “All right, then,” she asked. “Where are we going?”

He shot her a look that she translated as something akin to a dry, ‘Really?’ before he turned the key, started the engine, and turned onto the road that led out of town and to the Storybrooke town line.

For a while there was silence, not quite a heavy, awkward silence, but it was a little uncomfortable all the same. In the end Belle felt the need to break it.

“Where’s your pup?” she asked, “And what is he called?”

“Pup?” Gold echoed in disdain.

“Yes, pup. You know,” she said, “the dog you had with you before—?”

“Is _far_ from a pup,” he interrupted. “He is a _working_ dog and no, he does _not_ belong to me.”

“And does he have a name - this working dog?” she snarked just as much as he had in return. “Or just an employee number?”

Gold was silent for a long time, and just when Belle had convinced herself that he wasn’t going to answer, he said, “Aspen.”

“It’s a beautiful name,” she offered.

“It’s ridiculous,” he argued, “to have a dog named for a tree.”

She felt somewhat put in her place and didn’t speak again for the rest of the journey to the town line, where - as he had before, when she reading was up in the rotten tree - he turned onto the track leading into the forest. This time he didn’t have to negotiate the Cadillac past her van. The track was bumpy, and after a several moments became less of a track and more of an open space in the midst of the trees with tire marks leading out into the middle of nowhere.

Almost abruptly, Gold stopped the car, and wordlessly nodded to Belle for them to get out. He walked to the trunk to pull out two lantern-style flashlights, one of which he handed to her, and then led her a little way further into the apparently impenetrable darkness.

She followed him, glad, for once, to be in sneakers and not her habitual footwear, lowering the lantern to light the ground at her feet in contrast to Gold, who held his high in the hand not using his cane, seeming to know the ground as well as he knew his own fingerprints.

Suddenly, out of the darkness came the flash of white within a piece of shadow that was moving, heading straight for them, and even with the circle of light that surrounded them, Belle’s heart began to race as she let her imagination run away with her. It wasn’t until she heard the slight panting that she realized that it was only Aspen, come to meet them, and in the next moment he trotted into the light and straight up to Gold, coming to walk at his heel.

“Good boy,” Gold murmured, as he continued walking, and Belle couldn’t help but smile.

A few moments longer, up ahead, another light winked into existence, and Gold steered their steps that way, coming to a halt in front of a giant of a man, who turned his head to look Belle up and down. She felt as though she had been examined from the inside out.

As if the man had asked a silent question with his actions, Gold said, “I thought she might prove to be helpful.” Then, as though explaining himself had reminded him of his manners, he said to her, “Miss Marchland, this is Dove.”

“Good to meet you,” she said softly, and he merely nodded. So, Belle looked around herself to see if she could spot any livestock.

“Where is she?” Gold asked, and Dove gestured toward a small structure set up against the rail of a fence that Belle could barely see in the dark. “Let’s take a look at her then,” Gold said, and followed Dove over to a makeshift kind of shelter.

Aspen went a little closer, but then lay down, alert, she could tell, by his pricked up ears, but not encroaching on the sheep’s space. She however, crept closer and in light of the two lanterns, and then her own, she could make out the ewe, lying on some straw inside the lean-to. She looked very uncomfortable and Belle’s heart went out to the poor thing.

“Can’t you do something?” She asked, then looked up at Gold, and then at Dove.

“You called the vet?” Gold asked of Dove, and the man nodded in the affirmative.

“Already out,” he said, his voice so deep it was almost inaudible, a rumble more than words.

“Damn!” Gold cursed. “And you think it’s twins?” Dove nodded, and Gold cursed again. “Nothing else for it, then.”

As Belle watched, Gold began to shrug out of his jacket, tie, and waistcoat, slipping off his sleeve garters and his cuff links too, which he slipped into his pocket, before draping the garments over the rail of the fence. She gaped then as he began to roll up the sleeves of his silk shirt as high as they could go. She had never seen him even without a jacket before, so for him to be so _undressed_ … Then she realized why, and paled.

“Wait a minute,” she demanded. “You’re not—”

“What did you think must be done, Miss Marchland? That I would deliver the lambs by _magic_ perhaps?” he scoffed, then after a beat said, “Believe it or not, pawnbroker and landlord is not the _only_ life I’ve led.”

“No, it’s just…” she stammered, “I’ve never…”

Gold shook his head with a sigh, and approached where the ewe was now bleating out her distress, and he knelt down by her, and almost tenderly ran his hand along her side.

“Easy,” he crooned, and she bleated again in response, “I know, old girl, I know…”

Belle’s head was reeling, not only was she seeing the dreaded Mister Gold practically naked, but now she was also witnessing a tender side of him that she doubted _anyone_ would believe, were she to tell them, and she wasn’t really sure that _she_ believed it herself. Perhaps this was all some strange dream that she would wake from any moment, covered in chamomile tea where she’d fallen asleep drinking it. The thought drew her back to the present and she watched in morbid fascination as Dove took hold of the sheep by the legs, and Gold moved to help the struggling animal. She couldn’t help but look away, her jaw tight as she listened to the soft sounds of Gold’s voice, murmuring apologies to the ewe and her young.

“Come on, my little one,” he murmured, and she looked back, hoping that meant there was some success. Gold turned his head to look at her then and with his voice full of irony said, “I suppose this is the last thing you expected to see when you came to check up on me, hmm?”

The pained bleating of the sheep prevented her from answering.

Gold swore again, a word that Belle would never have expected from the lips of a man so refined as he appeared to be, but she was rapidly learning that where Mister Gold was concerned, looks could be entirely deceptive.

“Can’t keep a hold,” he said, “and my hand is too big to pull the legs and my hand out at the same time.”

Dove nodded, his expression worried in the extreme as he held up his own, over-large hand. Belle bit her lip, her own worry mounting. She didn’t know what exactly would happen if the ewe couldn’t deliver her babies, or if the vet couldn’t get there on time, but she was sure she could guess, and it wasn’t good.

Then she felt a prickling on her skin, and looked up from the ewe to find both men looking at her. She actually took a step back. Belle was adventurous, and not averse to trying new things - and she was well enough read - but animal husbandry was _not_ one of the subjects that had been high on her list of things to enjoy.

“This is not the time to be squeamish, Miss Marchland,” Gold said, fixing her with an uncompromising stare. Behind his expression, she somehow saw that he expected her to fail, and as ornery as she could be, Belle wasn’t about to let that stand. That didn’t mean she wasn’t nervous though. As she stepped hesitantly forward, Gold raised and eyebrow and asked, “Are you sure?”

The sheep bleated again in pain and Belle almost echoed the sound herself before she said, “Well I can’t make it all that much worse, can I?” but as Gold quirked his eyebrow she said, “Oh, dear gods… do you want me to try or not?”

Gold looked from her to Dove. “Any word?” he asked and Dove shook his head. Gold turned his attention back to Belle again, “We are at your mercy, Miss Marchland, and please… try not to exacerbate matters.”

Belle went over to where Dove had a basin of water and some unappealingly scented soap, but she supposed the sheep wouldn’t care. She thought about simply pushing up the sleeves of her sweatshirt, but in the end thought they would probably keep falling down and get in the way, so in the end stripped it off, leaving her standing in the freezing, early hours of the morning in nothing but her undershirt - a sleeveless tank top that _mostly_ covered her bra. She figured that Gold had already seen her in her pajamas, so what would be the harm? After washing up, at Dove’s silent behest she greased her arm with and even more foul smelling substance before walking back over to where Gold was still kneeling beside the ewe. He moved aside for her, just a little way.

Once again Dove held the ewe by the feet, and both men looked up expectantly at Belle, and she stared back at them, shifting her glance between Gold, Dove and the sheep.

“For goodness sake, Miss Marchland, it’s a sheep. It won’t bite.”

“That’s a live animal,” she argued, “You don’t know that!”

“Not for much longer, if she doesn’t birth these lambs,” he said with exaggerated patience, then with mischievous snark added, “Besides, this is completely the wrong end for teeth, dearie.”

Belle flushed, and with a deep breath shuffled closer and knelt behind the ewe. Then, with another, equally deep, breath, pushed her hand inside the sheep, drawing a bleat from the laboring creature.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized quickly to the ewe, “I’m sorry. I really don’t know what I’m doing.” Then she winced and felt as though her arm were being crushed as the animal had another contraction.

“What can you feel?”

Gold’s voice sounded close and she realized, with a shivering warmth that went through her, that he had moved to steady her.

“It… it’s all a mess of slime, I can’t… I can’t tell—”

“Take a breath,” Gold’s voice soft in her ear. “Close your eyes… _see_ with your fingers.”

She did as he bid her, letting her eyes close, opening her other senses; the frigid breeze, the warmth of Golds body behind her, his breath on her neck, the shapes at her fingertips… A tiny nose, delicate little ears, and legs - so many legs all in a knot.

“It’s all tangled,” her voice held a note of panic, “there are too many legs!”

“More than one lamb, dearie,” Gold murmured, sounding amused.

“Yes,” she said, “sorry. Of course.” She took a breath to try and banish the panic. “All right. What now?”

“Feel,” Gold breathed. “See if you can untangle the legs and gather four from the same animal.”

Belle nodded, letting her hand move slowly over the tangle of limbs, folding and unfolding the pliant little legs until she could gather four hooves in one hand.

“There,” she said almost excitedly. “I have one, I’ve got it!”

“Excellent,” Gold purred, “Now, try pulling, just a little.” He shifted to her side, demonstrating a soft tug on her arm, and Belle shivered where his skin touched her. How could he be so _warm_? “Just gently,” he crooned again, and Belle obeyed. For a time the little lamb moved, only a little, and then no gentle pull she could exert would move it.

“It’s stuck!” she cried as the ewe bleated her distress. “He won’t come out any more.”

“Try not to panic,” Gold said dryly, and snapped his fingers at Dove, who produced a piece of rope as if from nowhere. Gold tied it in a loop, and then addressing Belle again said, “Here. Take out you hand and then loop this around its hooves.”

“A rope!” Belle protested, “You’re seriously going to pull this little baby out with a rope?!”

Gold gave her a look, that could best be described as ‘sideways’ and snarked, “Unless you’d rather I telephone Doctor Whale and ask him to come and perform a Cesarean section?”

Belle frowned at him, tense and still nervous and uncertain of all she was doing. This was not at all what she thought lambing would be like; not in a million years. Belle gently took her hand out from the ewe, took the rope from Gold and then slipped her hand back inside. She tried really hard not to notice the mess on her hand, and keep in her mind that what she was doing was helping to save a life… no, not one, but _three_ lives.

She was also trying not to notice the cold that had, by now, seeped though to her very bones, and she was trembling with it, so she fumbled a few times before she managed to get the rope around the lamb’s hooves.

“Okay,” she said with a trembling breath out.

“Are you ready?” Gold replied. “Because if not, when I start pulling the rope will just slip out and we’ll have to start all over again.

“I’m ready,” Belle assured him, trying not to sound like she was snapping, “Can we do this please, before I damn well _freeze_ to death?”

Gold nodded, and Dove secured his grasp on the sheep’s legs before Gold began to count, and when he reached three, he began to pull. Belle let her hand slip out as he pulled gently at first, slowly, but then faster and almost when she thought it wasn’t going to work, a brand-new, soaking wet lamb popped out like a cork from a bottle.

“Oh!” Belle gasped. “Oh, goodness!”

She barely had the time to get the words out before the ewe gave an almost relieved bleat, heaved strongly once, and birthed the second lamb without a hint of trouble. Belle couldn’t help but feel tears come to her eyes.

Gold nodded to Belle with the hint of a smile on his face and said quietly, “Go and wash up - get your clothes back on and get warm. I’ll see to these little ones.”

She climbed to her feet, stiff from the cold and being in one position for so long, and went to scrub herself clean; suddenly tired too, now that the adrenaline was fading off. She glanced over to watch as Gold rubbed the lambs down with some fresh hay, and checked that their mouths and noses were clear of obstructions. They looked so helpless, and yet, after only a few moments more, somehow they got their wobbly legs beneath them, letting out little indignant bleats as they made their way over to their mother, as if by instinct.

Belle returned to where the sheep were in the lean-to, pulling her sweatshirt on over her head just as Gold was levering himself up with his cane, and when she spoke, with an emotional catch in her voice, it was to the ewe she addressed her comment.

“Well done, mum… just… well done.” As if she knew what Belle had said, the ewe looked up for a moment from where she had set to licking her lambs clean as they suckled and bleated once. “You clever girl,” Belle finished.

Gold smiled broadly, and Belle turned a frown his way.

“Are you laughing at me?” she asked. “Well, I don’t care.”

He shook his head, as he crossed the short distance to go and wash up. “Not laughing, dearie,” he said, without the usual sting in the words. “I may have seen quite a few lambs born in my previous life, but that doesn’t mean I don’t think it’s something special; beautiful, uncomplicated creatures.”

He dried his hands on the towel that Dove held out to him, and started rolling down his sleeves, though he didn’t bother to fasten them before he shrugged on his jacket, without his tie or waistcoat.

“Come on,” he said, as he reached where Belle was starting to shiver again. “You still look perished. Tea? I believe we can leave Mum and Dove to it now.”

She followed Gold back across the uneven ground, surprised to notice the first sense of the coming morning teasing the sky and painting it in a darker shade of blue as the moon set.

“We didn’t take _that_ long, did we?” she said, nodding to the darkening trees.

“Time can be deceptive here,” he told her softly, and pulled out a pocket watch, flipping it open to look at the time, “Approaching four.”

“Wow,” she murmured, getting into the car as he held open the door for her.

He came around the car and climbed in, starting the vehicle and beginning to move as soon as he the engine was warm enough. When they reached the track, however, he turned to the left, heading further _into_ the trees rather than away.

“Where are we going?” Belle asked, more curious than afraid.

“I own property out here, and it’s closer than town,” he offered. “I thought you might like to get warm all the sooner.”

“Thank you,” she murmured. “That’s very… thoughtful.”

They fell into a silence then, but it was a comfortable one this time and soon they pulled up outside of a log cabin beside a lake that Belle hadn’t even known existed. Gold looked at her expectantly, and got out of the car as she did. Then, she followed him to the cabin door.

Someone, perhaps Dove, she thought, had obviously been there earlier, because she could smell wood smoke, and when Gold opened the door for her, a cocoon of warmth enveloped her. She sighed in relief.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Gold told her, and slipping off his jacket and rolling up his sleeves again, he rebuilt the fire, and then moved into the kitchen area to make the promised tea. Belle moved closer to the hearth, to the couch set there, and dropped wearily into it and before too long, Gold came to hand her a steaming cup.

She took a sip almost at once, and coughed as she tasted the burn of alcohol as well as hot tea.

“What’s this?” she asked, glancing over at him as he took the chair beside her.

“Tea,” he said, “with the addition of a little something to warm us through.”

He smiled then, and she couldn’t help but join him in the quiet happiness. She took another sip, letting the warmth seep through to her frozen bones, the heat and the peace wrapped around her like a blanket.

“This is nice,” she said.

Gold looked up from his tea, and met her eyes. “You do look contented, yes,” he remarked.

“Why wouldn’t I?” she asked, teasing softly, “I helped save the lambs, I’m sitting here in a beautiful cabin by a lovely log fire, finally feeling cozy, and drinking whiskey with… a man who has more to him than I thought. I think this has been what I would call a good night.”

She set her cup down on the table at the end of the couch, feeling the truth of all of those things she had just listed to Gold, and he chuckled, advising, “Just don’t fall asleep in front of the fire.”

But Belle’s had already set her head down on the arm of the couch, and her eyes were closed. His advice came too late, and if he said anything else at all, she didn’t hear it.


	20. Renaissance Man

By the time Belle finally surfaced, the sun was already streaming in through the windows of the small cabin in which she found herself, catching the dust motes that were swirling in the air. For a moment she couldn’t work out where she was, but as she woke up a little more, and remembered the events of the previous night, she realized where she was; Gold’s cabin in the woods. She lay there, draped in a soft, handmade, woolen blanket, on the comfortable couch, letting the memories flow through her brain one by one, before sitting up to look around her. Gone was the tea cup she had set on the table, and the fire had died down to mere embers in the hearth. The kitchen was clean and everything put away - there was no evidence that anyone had been there at all, and Gold, of course, was nowhere to be seen.

Belle decided to take the opportunity to look around, first taking in the interior of the cabin, and then, through the rear door, the sun deck that led down to the edge of the lake. The water looked crystal clear and very cold and to test her theory, Belle crouched down and dipped her hand into the water, gasping softly at the crisp bite of it.

Yes, most definitely cold, but then, it had been cold the night before and into the small hours in which she had been practically naked, with all of her that might in any way react to the cold, exposed. She groaned softly at the turn her thoughts had taken and stood again, to return to the cabin, careful to close and lock the door behind her again. It was only when she caught sight of the clock on the mantelpiece over the hearth that she realized how late she had slept, and she cursed softly to herself.

Then another thought occurred to her, and she silently cursed Gold. If she were here, and he was nowhere to be found, that must mean only one thing. He had left her behind, and it would be a _long_ walk back into town.

Sighing, and folding up the soft blanket with which, she reasoned, Gold must have covered her - and that brought another blush to her cheeks - she draped it across the back of the couch before she took one final look around, and then walked out of the door.

To her surprise, the Cadillac was sitting just outside the door, though it was not Gold who leaned against the side of the vehicle, but the man whom Gold had introduced to her as Dove, and who never seemed to speak but one or two words at a time. He straightened when he saw her coming out of the cabin, and gestured to the car.

“Town?” he asked, and she offered him a smile.

“Yes, please,” she said, and he nodded, opening up the door for her, and then closing it again behind her as she climbed into the car. _Perhaps Gold isn’t such a thoughtless bastard after all_ , she thought to herself with another blush.

When she walked into the library apartment, Ruby was lounging on the couch, idly flicking through the book that Belle had been reading, that she had left on the coffee table the night before. She looked up as Belle closed the door.

“There you are,” she said, and set the book down. “Have you been out already? Hardly your M.O. is it, Belle? Normally I’d have to prize a book out of your cold, dead hands to get you to even go to the store for bagels. Who are you, and what have you done with my best friend?”

“Ha ha,” Belle said, though without any real heat or humor. “To start with, it’s well past eleven, and as a matter of fact, I went out just after you went to bed, and I didn’t come home last night.”

Ruby almost leaped to her feet and lurched toward Belle, but Belle turned away, moving to collect her purse from where she’d left it the previous day.

“Oh no you don’t!” Ruby said, her voice a singular demand. “Spill it, girlfriend!”

“Come on, we’re going to Granny’s,” Belle said, taking Ruby’s jacket and tossing it at her. “I’m starving and I need brea— brunch.”

Ruby pulled on the jacket, and then bent to straighten up her red, high heeled shoes so that she could slip her feet into them. “You’re not going to get away with it, you know?” she said, following Belle out of the door, and down the stairs toward the outside door.

It was barely a stone’s throw to Granny’s so in no time at all the two of them were walking into the friendly warmth of Granny’s diner. Belle saw Ruby frown slightly as she set eyes on the elderly proprietor, but she didn’t get the chance to ask her friend about the expression before Granny came to greet them.

“The usual, Belle, dear?” she asked.

“Yes, please,” Belle smiled in return and then indicated her friend, “And Ruby?”

Ruby thought for a moment, and Granny seemed ready to offer her a menu, when she said suddenly, “And I’ll have a stack of pancakes, with a side of bacon.”

“Anything else? Iced tea?” Granny addressed them both.

“Oh, and 2 eggs over easy,” Ruby added, then seemed to remember her manners and added, “Please.”

Granny chuckled, “Right you are then, have a seat and I’ll get someone to bring it over.”

“And iced tea would be lovely for me,” Belle said, “but I think Ruby would be happier with coffee.”

Ruby nodded in the affirmative and then followed Belle to a quiet booth most of the way down the diner; out of the way. She barely had her backside in the seat before she said, “Right, now you can tell me what you got up to last night, before I decide to kill you for breaking the best-friend code.”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Belle said, smiling up at the waitress that brought Ruby’s coffee and her own iced tea.

“Try me,” Ruby answered dryly.

Belle paused, opened her mouth to speak and then stopped, before she shrugged, and told Ruby. “I delivered two lambs.”

“And I’m the mother superior of that convent you were telling me about earlier this week.”

“No, seriously,” Belle protested innocently, “I’m not lying. I mean, I didn’t do it by myself, but yeah… I delivered two lambs.”

Ruby studied her face for a while before her expression dissolved first into one of astonishment, and then settled into a mask of playful irritation.

“I knew it!” she said. “ _Years_ in Boston without so much as a ‘hello’ from a guy, and you move up here and suddenly it’s all, ‘flies round a honey pot!’ You stayed at his croft, didn’t you…? This shepherd or whatever… farmer.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Belle said and squirmed in her seat as she went on to tell her friend all that had happened the night before.

“Is he good looking… fit?” She pressed Belle for details. “In my mind farmers are all… gum boots and plaid flannel shirts.”

“That’s lumberjacks,” Belle remarked, “and you watch too much television.”

“Well go on then, _tell_ me.”

“Well, he’s…” Belle paused, images of Gold flooding through her mind, from all the times she’d seen him in contrast to the way he had been the night before. It was almost as though he were two different men. “He’s sort of small… for a guy,” she added when Ruby shot her a look, “and wiry; chiseled face. Divorcee, or widower maybe. He’s bad tempered and _rude,_ and very sarcastic.”

“Careful, Belle,” Ruby said, “You’ll have me thinking you’re protesting too much.”

Belle rolled her eyes, and hid behind her iced tea. “He’s just… a guy, that’s all, a normal guy who happens to own some sheep.” She didn’t list Gold’s _other_ qualifications and possessions.

“Can’t be _that_ normal,” Ruby snorted, and in spite of telling herself she didn’t want to know her friend’s qualification for being ‘normal’ and why Gold didn’t meet it, her eyebrow quirked in query, so Ruby elaborated. “You spent the night, alone, in a log cabin with a roaring fire, and he didn’t even come on to you? I mean, like, how is that _normal_? There’s bad tempered and there’s _bad tempered_ , but… what guy do you _honestly_ know wouldn’t try it on with a beautiful woman under those circumstances?” Belle opened her mouth to speak, but before she could get a word in edgewise Ruby said, “Unless he’s—”

“Ruby!” Belle squeaked in alarm, cutting off whatever her friend had been going to say. “He isn’t _anything_. Can we just… change the subject, please?”

They were saved from having to change the subject, or talk at all for several minutes by the arrival of their food, and from the look on her face, Ruby savored every bite. With any luck, Belle hoped, she would forget about the third degree she had been giving to her.

“So, what’s the plan for this afternoon then?” Ruby asked, “And don’t tell me ‘unpacking books’ because I will _absolutely_ tell you where to get off if you do.”

Belle chuckled. “Actually, I was going to get you to help make a banner to put up on the street outside the library - let everyone know when I’ll be opening.”

“Good.”

“And _then_ we can see to unpacking the boxes,” Belle added with a teasing grin.

Ruby groaned, but it was good natured, and that afternoon was spent with the two women working side by side in the Library. Belle working hard to get the books unpacked and cataloged, and Ruby bent over a sheet of canvass which had eyelets in each corner, sketching and then paining a brightly colored banner inviting prospective readers to the ‘Grand Opening’ of the Storybrooke Public library.

Once it was all done, and dry enough to hang, the two of them took it outside, with the rope that was provided for hanging it, and began to secure it between two lamp posts, both stepping back into the road a way, to look it over. A huge grin crossed Belle’s face.

“Well,” said Ruby, “Guess you really _have_ to have the library ready to open by then, hmm? Now that you’ve strung it out along the street for everyone to see.”

“Yes, I do,” Belle answered, as if lost in a daydream, then with a breath she snapped out of it and, turned to Ruby. “I think it’s getting a little late to do any more on the books today. How about we call it a day and—”

A car horn sounding further down the street made Belle jump. She and Ruby both turned to see the most… _well_ , thought Belle, _to say it was an unusual sight would probably be the understatement of the century._

Standing with one leather clad leg out of the car, with boots up to his knees, was a tall man - made even taller by the addition of a large top hat which he was in the process of jamming onto his head. His high collared, brown leather coat hung around his legs, and barely concealed the lighter brown waistcoat, and lurid purple cravat worn over a darker shirt. He sounded the horn again, and called out, “Hey, Gold!”

As Belle and Ruby watched, another man stepped out from the passenger side of the car. He wore a red and silver brocade tunic with a white shirt beneath that reached to his chin, with a similarly white cravat tucked inside the tunic. A baldric and scabbard encircled his waist and hung to the left hand side of him, disrupting the fall of the deep burgundy cloak that tumbled to mid-calf. His hair was close cropped and neatly styled. To say that he looked like something out of a fairy tale would _not_ have been an exaggeration.

The car’s final occupant was slower to alight, but when it was clear that Gold was not to answer the summons of either the car’s horn, or the call of greeting by the man in the top hat any time soon, the man finally stepped out. The rich brown of his skin contrasted perfectly to the cream colored, highly embroidered jacket he wore that fell to the middle of his thighs over the top of his white pants, and hung open to reveal a light brown vest and a lace cravat which was tied at his neck and was also white. He wore a neatly trimmed beard which accentuated his serious expression.

“I have _got_ to see this up close,” Ruby snorted, and Belle couldn’t help but agree. The three men looks like some kind of rejects from a Renaissance fair. She followed Ruby the short distance along the road to where the trio were still looking expectantly toward Gold’s shop.

The man in the top hat was the first to notice them, and stepped fully out of the car, turning to take the top hat from his head, and offer them a low bow. As he rose, Belle couldn’t help but feel as though he were looking at her, or rather _into_ her.

She shifted uncomfortably in place, and then became still, as if transfixed, leaving Ruby to step closer and greet them with a cheery, “Please tell me you three are on your way to a costume ball, and that this is _not_ the way the men around here all dress.”

The driver of the vehicle chuckled, and said, “My dear young woman, which answer would make you happier. Name’s Jefferson, and these are my good friends David, and Gus.” He waved a hand first to the man in red, and then to the other man.

“Ruby,” said Ruby, “And this is—”

“Belle,” Jefferson finished. He sounded almost surprised, or else relieved, and Belle started as though him speaking her name had nudged her back into wakefulness. “Of course.”

“I”m sorry,” she said, stepping up to Ruby’s side. “I don’t think we’ve met, so—”

“Your reputation precedes you,” Jefferson said, gesturing across toward the library. “The town’s quite abuzz with excitement at the prospect of having the library again.”

“Ah, of course,” Belle said, though she didn’t feel entirely convinced, but she wasn’t sure whether she preferred her own suspicions to Jefferson’s explanation of how he knew who she was: since he was Gold’s friend, it seemed, perhaps, Gold had spoken of her to Jefferson. “I don’t recall seeing you around town though,” she added.

“Alas, no,” Jefferson agreed. “I keep a house on the far outskirts of Storybrooke, and I don’t get out much.”

“Except for today,” Ruby answered, gesturing toward Jefferson’s outlandish attire. Jefferson chuckled, so it was David who answered.

“Most everyone gets out _today_ ,” he said cryptically, then with a gesture toward the library, added, “Nice banner, by the way. I’m sure Mary Margaret will by happy to know when you’re opening.”

“Jeff,” Gus said, with a shake of his head, “Stop staring at the librarian and go in and get Gold. It doesn’t look as though he’s coming out of his own accord.”

Indeed he _did_ appear to be staring at her, and Belle felt that uncomfortable prickling in her backbone until he took his eyes away from her.

Jefferson snorted. “He wouldn’t dare not be there,” he told Gus. “Give Regina ammunition to use against him? Never!”

“Where exactly are you all _going_?” Ruby asked and Belle was glad that she’d managed to find the occasion to do so, while at the same time wondering at Jefferson’s exclamation.

“The Mayor’s Annual Ball,” Gus answered. “This year Mayor Mills decided on a Renaissance theme - obviously.” He gestured at the three of them as though to prove his point.

Then with a frown, Jefferson added, “I’m somewhat surprised you’re not going - as our town librarian, of course.”

Belle opened her mouth to answer, but then stopped in true amazement as the door to Gold’s shop opened with a tinkling of bells, and Gold himself stepped out, and judging from the expression on his face, Belle thought he felt somewhat self-conscious, especially as both David and Gus voiced their approval for his choice of attire.

In unrelieved black, and most of it leather, Gold came to a halt and folded his hands in front of him around the handle of his cane. The sleeves of his long, leather coat were tooled like the hide of a great, black crocodile, with wide, stiff cuffs bearing four polished buttons at each wrist. From beneath the cuffs peeked the lace of the black shirt he wore, under a black vest, also made of leather and nestled beneath the stiff, high color of the coat, which rose from the lapels, unyielding as Gold himself. On his feet, adorned with buckles at the arch of each foot, knee high boots with folded cuffs completed the stunning outfit over pants that were also leather, and so tight as to leave little unrevealed.

Belle tore her eyes away, blushing fiercely in embarrassment as she realized where she was staring.


	21. Teeth and Claws

“Oh. My. Gods!” Ruby gasped. “Seriously? That’s your—”

“Not another word.” Belle hissed in warning, still scarlet from the transgression of her roving eyes, and trying to distract herself in concentration on what Jefferson had said about her not attending the ball, like some sad approximation of Cinderella, that and to ignore the general fuss that Gold’s appearance had engendered.

Once the general caterwauling had died down, Jefferson folded his arms across his chest and asked, “You _do_ know that this is a ball, and not a funeral, right Gold?”

“Your point?” Gold asked dryly.

“My point, my good man,” Jefferson said with the gesture of a hand up and down Gold’s black clad form. “Is that you look like some kind of nightmare executioner or something.”

“And how do you know that’s not the look I’m going for?” Gold snarked, adding even more sarcastically, “Besides, we can’t _all_ play the part of the colorblind fop, now can we?”

Jefferson’s expression turned to one of mock offense. “I’m _deeply_ wounded,” he said, and out of the corner of her eyes, Belle saw that Ruby was fighting to keep a straight face.

“I dunno,” David piped up, “I think it kinda suits him.”

Jefferson made a sour face, and then switching subjects again slightly, said, “I’m also surprised - nay, alarmed, if I may say, Gold, that you haven’t already invited these lovely ladies.” He gestured with his hat toward where Belle and Ruby stood watching the exchange of friends.

When she realized what the man meant, Belle actually took a step back, as all four of the men turned to look at her and Ruby.

“Oh, no, it’s fine, really,” she stammered, “We don’t—”

“Actually,” Gold said with a frown, “I, myself, am somewhat surprised that you aren’t going, Miss Marchland.” He came around the car so that when he spoke with her they wouldn’t be talking over so great a distance. “One of the reasons that the library was closed down the last time was that the previous librarian ignored such… invitations.”

“Invitations?” Belle echoed.

“Yes,” he said, his frown deepening. “The mayor’s office mails them out to all local business owners, and while the library is not _technically_ a business, I rather think that Regina will expect you there.”

“I didn’t receive an invitation,” Belle said quietly.

“I’m surprised,” Gold answered.

“I’m not,” Belle said flatly, remembering all the other times that Mayor Mills had ‘neglected’ to mention certain important things - things that she should have been told.

“You should join us,” Gold said.

“Finally,” Jefferson exclaimed with a huff, “the man does the right thing!”

Gold threw a sour look his way. “Please,” he said, “I’d be delighted.”

Belle was about to stammer an apology, turn down the invitation and take her chances with Regina Mills when Ruby suddenly stabbed her with her elbow.

“We’d love to,” Ruby said. “Just give us a moment to go and get changed.”

“We’ll be here,” David assured her.

Ruby grabbed her by the elbow and began leading her away from the men and back toward the library. As soon as they were out of earshot, Belle hissed, “What the _hell_ are we supposed to wear? I bet they’ve had _weeks_ to get their outfits together.”

“Don’t be such a killjoy, Belle,” Ruby snapped, “I know for a fact you packed those outfits you used to wear for kids story time back at the library in Boston. One of those should do to look a bit… Olde Timey.”

Belle grumbled softly. She hadn’t thought of that, and doubted that she’d still get _into_ any of them it had been such a long time since she’d worn them, but alas, Ruby was right, and she had no excuse - not really.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” Ruby added with no little amount of sarcasm. “And could he have got those pants any tighter?”

“Ruby!” Belle squeaked, all but running for her bedroom closet to hide the neon red of her cheeks. Ruby’s soft laughter followed her until it disappeared into the bathroom.

As it turned out, one of the outfits Ruby mentioned still did fit her. It was a three quarter length dress in a dusky blue, which had a skirt with a slight bustle beneath the hips, and so it hung in soft pleats to her mid calf. The top of the dress was in the style of a cap-sleeved white blouse with slight puffs at the shoulder, and lace trim around the sleeve and at the top the dress was designed to be worn with the form fitting, corset like bodice, trimmed in a tan brown, and with black crossed laces at the front. A light touch of make up later, though with bright red lipstick, and her hair swept to the side, and she was ready to brave the ball.

When Ruby emerged from the bedroom Belle gasped to find her dressed in tight fitting suede leggings, into which she had tucked a vest style top, over which, she wore the long, red, cloak-style coat she’d bought in Boston when they last went shopping together.

“Wow,” she said.

“I’ll do then?” Ruby said with a chuckle. “Come on, lets not keep them waiting.”

It was a bit of a squeeze, getting the six of them into Jefferson’s car, but by virtue of Belle squeezing into the middle seat between Gold and David, and Gus practically in David’s lap, they all managed. Ruby rode shotgun, having the longest legs of all of them. Belle tried not to think too hard about the man pressed on her right hand side, or the way his hands lay, long and languid against his leather clad thighs. No, definitely not letting her thoughts drift in such a way. There was little conversation on the short drive to the fellowship hall up on the convent grounds, where the Ball was being held, but as they turned into the driveway, Belle swiveled her head first one way and then the other, taking in the array of revelers - if they could be called such - all dressed in myriad ways, heading for the large brick built hall.

They followed, each going their separate ways, almost without a word to one another once they had reached their destination, although Gus, it seemed, was quite taken with Ruby, and walked her into the hall on his arm, and promised to find her later when the dancing began.

“See,” Ruby said, catching up to where Belle was looking around the hall to try and get her bearings. “Not so bad, was it.” Then following Belle’s lead appeared to be looking around the hall herself until she said to Belle, “I hope you’re going to introduce me to some of your friends later… and seriously, you should go and find your Mister Gold for a dance.”

“Would you _stop_?” Belle protested, half laughing and half filled with embarrassment. “He’s not _my_ Mister Gold.”

She spotted Leroy, up on stage with the band and waved when he looked her way. He gave her a thumbs up and a grin before turning back to the task of making sure that everything was set for when the promised dancing began - whenever that might be. She began to wonder how they might manage the dancing as there seemed to be far more men at the occasion than women, and few enough that she could name.

“Belle,” she turned as a familiar voice called her name and a moment later found herself looking up into the smiling face of Doctor Archie Hopper. He seemed to have opted not to indulge in wearing a costume, and remained in his usual tweed jacket, shirt and pants. “You made it.”

“I did,” she said. “Thanks to Jefferson and his friends arriving to collect Mister Gold.” Then remembering herself at a nudge from Ruby, she added, “This is my friend, Ruby. Ruby, Doctor Hopper.”

“Archie, please,” he said. “And you’re visiting from…?”

“Boston,” Ruby said. “We used to be room mates, before she moved up here.”

“Ah,” Archie said sagely, “Well, your loss is our gain, as they say.”

“Yeah,” Ruby said. 

Archie excused himself after a moment, disappearing into the rapidly increasing throng of people. Belle tried to spot anyone else she knew, to introduce to Ruby, but the fact of it was that besides Leroy and Archie, and of course Granny, who was far too busy running back and forth with catering items for Belle to disturb her, Belle knew very few people.

“Well, well, Miss Marchland.” The voice was sickeningly oily, and yet held an edge. “I see you found your way to my little soiree. I’m so glad you received the invitation.”

With a river of ice flowing down her backbone, Belle turned, but somehow found strength in her friend’s presence she said, “Mayor Mills. I didn’t.”

“No?” Regina frowned an exaggerated frown that made Belle _certain_ that she had been left off the guest list on purpose. “An oversight, I’m sure.”

She nodded, sending the great plume of black feathers that cradled the back of her neck quivering, for the first time drawing Belle’s attention away from her face. The mayor was wearing a red and black floral dress, with silver lace embroidery all around the neckline and decolletage and descended to well below her waist, like an arrow pointing to where Belle was _sure_ the woman must have teeth. The shoulders were wide, the waist narrow, and the full bustle accentuated her hips. Around her neck, in the same style and silver as the embroidery on the dress she wore a pendant, which held many tiny rubies. The pendant’s triangular shape was nestled in the top of her cleavage, which was pushed up by the tight bodice of the dress to reveal the creamy white curves of full breasts.

There was _nothing_ subtle about Regina Mills.

“Well, anyway,” Belle tore her eyes away, and smiled as the band began to tune their instruments, “I’m here now. I’m sure there won’t be any _more_ mishaps. People might begin to think it by design rather than accident.”

The viper smile disappeared from Mayor Mills’ dark red lips, and her face creased into an ugly line, “Are you threatening me, Miss Marchland.”

“Me?” she said with all the innocence she could muster. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Miss Mills.” Then lowering her voice to a more confidential tone, added, “I’m sure we both have far more important things to do, and it would seem that duty calls.”

She nodded toward the stage, where Leroy appeared to be trying to attract the mayor’s attention.

“Indeed it does,” Mayor Mills said, in a brittle ‘this isn’t over’ kind of tone, and the deadly smile reappeared on her face. “This has been an interesting conversation, Miss Marchland, and how _fitting_ that you’re dressed as a serving maid. Enjoy your evening.”

She walked away then, hips swaying as though she were trying to hypnotize every man in the room. Ruby stepped back up beside Belle, and handed her a chilled glass of white wine.

“Thanks for the back up,” Belle said sarcastically.

“Nah,” Ruby told her, “You didn’t need it, but I can’t help but wonder what’s got her panties all in a bunch,” and after a beat, and a sip of wine, she added, “Bitch!”


	22. Wallflower

Mercifully, Mayor Mills’ annual ‘pep talk’ didn’t last long enough for people to get bored, although even if they had, Belle doubted anyone would have dared to say anything. Leroy struck up the first dance of the day, and the people who had begun milling around uncomfortably appeared to relax, some adventurous few drifted onto the area in front of the stage, finding partners and beginning to dance.

To Belle’s alarm, what she had expected by ‘dancing’ and what the residents of Storybrooke were doing were two complete different things. Being a modern town, however isolated and insular it might be, Belle expected the kind of free and easy gyrations that one might find in any club throughout the United States. What the citizens of Storybrooke engaged in, however, was more like something out of Jane Eyre. Couples danced close, held in each other’s arms and seemed to glide across the dance floor in time to the music and hardly anyone she watched mis-stepped. She had danced at weddings before, where people held on to each other and shuffled around a dance floor, but never anything like this; never anything so… grand.

“Oh, _hell_ no,” she whispered to herself, and almost in a near panic began looking around for someone she knew, to whom she could talk or attach herself like a limpet to the bottom of a boat; safely secure her place as a confirmed spectator.

Granny presented herself as a good candidate when she came to a stop for a moment beside the long trestle tables laden down with food, and Belle really did want to thank her, because everything on offer looked, and smelled, so delicious, but they couldn’t speak long before Granny was called away, leaving Belle once again alone, gazing out across the dance floor.

To her great surprise, she spotted Ruby dancing, apparently effortlessly, with Gus, the tall man in white with whom they’d ridden on the way to the ball. Her friend seemed as graceful as a leaf floating on a gentle breeze as she moved, and the perfect compliment to Gus. Her red cloak flowed out behind and around her when they turned. Belle felt a sudden rush of envy, and almost wished that she were bold enough to find a partner and get out there. As for Ruby, it seemed her friend was full of surprises.

The thought of people being or doing other than she would expect of them returned her mental wondering to Gold, and automatically her eyes began scanning the crowds to see if she could see him in among the twisting and turning splashes of color on the dance floor. She wanted to ask him about the lambs. It had been almost a full day and she wanted to be sure that they were still doing okay.

Unable to see him among the dancers, she swept the walls - what she could see through the dancers anyway - and finally was able to spot him on the far side of the room. Before she could change her mind, and knocking back the remains of the wine in her glass, she made her way around the side of the room, as quickly as the crowds, and the twirling dancers would allow. Even so, just before she got within earshot of where he stood, another man that she had never seen before stepped up to him, and the two began to engage in what looked like a heated conversation, or at the very least one that was intense.

This man was much taller than Gold, and also wore black leather, though not, she noted, entirely black. Even so she began to wonder what it _was_ with some of the men in Storybrooke that they had to exert their… masculinity in the amount of black, or the amount of leather - or even the amount of _frill_ they wore. This other man, however, wore a red, double breasted waistcoat, beneath his long, thick, leather coat, and it - and his shirt - were both open enough to reveal a mane of dark hair on the mans chest, bedecked by a low-hanging pendant on a thick silver chain. All he needed was an eye patch and a hook for a hand, and he would have made a passable pirate. As she gathered her incredulity of the moment to bolster her courage, she stepped closer, close enough to speak to Gold. She noticed, then, that the man he was speaking with - arguing with, perhaps - even had eyes ringed with Kohl.

“Mister Gold,” she called out, only just loud enough to be heard over the strains of the music. Both men looked at her, each with a mixture of irritation and relief on their faces, though Gold looked considerably more _bored_ than the other man. “I wanted to ask you,” she said.

“Yes?” he prompted, all but making a ‘hurry up’ gesture with the way he held his entire body.

“Well, I wanted to ask about the lambs,” she said, Looking up at him as if it were the most obvious thing in the world and she thought he should already have known.

“They’re fine,” he snapped, dismissive either of her, or of the question and she couldn’t tell which. She shouldn’t have cared, but still, it hurt and she refused to be brushed off.

“Are you not dancing, Mister Gold,” she asked, inserting enough honey into her tone as to be cloyingly sickening, and drawing a particularly distasteful smirk from the would-be pirate.

“I don’t,” he snapped in return, only softening it a moment later with a quieter, “Thank you. Town villains don’t dance, dearie.”

She opened her mouth for a retort, determined to have the last word, when a hand appeared in front of her, palm up, the heel of the hand touched by the frill of a burgundy cuff.

“The town fop, on the other hand, does,” the man attached to the hand said with playful exaggeration, “and you, my dear, have been a wallflower long enough.”


	23. By Jefferson's Hand

Belle made all kinds of protests to Jefferson as he led her onto the dance floor, even warned of the cliche that she would stand on his feet. Which only made him chuckle in apparent amusement.

“Nonsense, my dear Belle,” he told her, “I assure you that I’m an excellent teacher. Just follow my lead and you can’t go wrong.”

Belle raised an eyebrow, not exactly doubting him, rather doubting his _intentions_.

“You’re just trying to get me away from Mister Gold,” she accused softly, “and the man he’s with.”

Jefferson shuddered, and drew her a little closer as he began to move with the rhythm of the dance in such a way that she had little choice but to follow.

“Jones. Unsavory character,” he said, “Very bad business. Trust me, it’s for your own good.”

Belle tried to see around Jefferson to where Gold was standing, but barely caught a glimpse of the man, still engaged in what looked like a somewhat heated conversation, before her dance partner twirled her away and she was forced to concentrate on the the dancing.

It wasn’t that the steps were hard, and indeed under Jefferson’s excellent tutelage Belle soon got the hang of the repeating patterns of back and forth, promenade and moments of contact. In fact, she soon found herself enjoying the dance, becoming lost in it as a way to forget her worries and the ugly way in which Regina had greeted her.

As they turned around the dance floor, she spotted Ruby, who seemed to be thoroughly enjoying herself, dancing and deeply in conversation with Gus. She smiled, and turning so that he could follow the direction of her gaze Jefferson let out another chuckle.

“Seems like your friend had made quite the impression,” he said.

“That’s Ruby!” Belle answered with a wryly amused shake of her head.

The dance ended, and Jefferson offered a courtly bow and escorted Belle to the side of the room where the refreshments stood on the long trestle table, affording her the opportunity to get herself a snack. She only wanted something light, but she thought it was probably wise to eat something to soak up the wine that she had drunk.

While she nibbled on the finger food she had chosen, she watched the dancers, and those who, like her, preferred to be on the outside of it all watching, seeing what there was to learn about everyone. Of course in this instance, she hardly knew who anyone was, so it was a bit of a moot point, but she meant to change that. Once the library was open she wanted to come to know each and every _one_ of her Storybrooke neighbors.

The music changed again, and some of the dancers drifted to new partners or away from the dance floor altogether. It was a slightly more lively dance than the others, and many of the townspeople only managed to make it through half of the dance before they were winded, and needed to take a break. Those with the stamina for it, however, were not to be deterred, simply finding new partners with whom to complete the dance and, in some cases, simply dragging them onto the dance floor. Granny was one such person, grasped by the hand by a similarly aged gentleman the top of whose head was bald, but gray hair adorned the back and sides of his head, and he had a beautiful and neatly trimmed snow white beard and mustache. He looked very distinguished, in spite of the obvious twinkle in his eyes.

Belle watched, smiling as Granny kicked up her heels, laughing more than Belle had ever seen her laugh. It made her happy to see, and she smiled fondly, watching for a moment more before, for some reason, her mind turned again to thoughts of Mister Gold.

She looked toward where she’d last seen him with - what was it Jefferson had called him - Jones? At first she could not see either Jones, or Mister Gold, but the mayor stood nearby to where they’d been, with her back to Belle. It wasn’t until Miss Mills moved a little, as if pacing that Belle saw past her to where Gold was standing, leaning on his cane, a clear look of consternation on his face.

At a sudden signal from Regina, the band brought the current dance to an end, apparently a little more abruptly than the dancers expected because there was a general murmur of discontent among the evening’s attendees, before Leroy called out over the growing rumble.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please find your partners for the Storybrooke Carole.”

Belle frowned, wondering what was going on, and indeed why there was suddenly so much excitement after their apparent displeasure mere moments before. Townsfolk began hurrying around the hall, gathering people as though to share some vital moment; a monumental event. After allowing the milling to go on for a few minutes, Mayor Mills turned back to Mister Gold and even across the general hubbub, Belle heard her say, “Shall we?”

To her utter horror, Gold leaned his cane against a nearby table, and in the manner of some ancient, dark knight raised his arm, fist slightly closed, and Regina placed her hand over his, and the two walked to the center of the dance floor. Belle’s stomach clenched, and she felt a flush fly through her blood, reaching to color her face an instant later as a bitter anger subsumed her. It was not the disappointment, since she had believed in the second before that Gold would turn Regina down and laugh in her face, and he had not, it was something more than that; Something deeper for which she had no reason, and definitely no right. She was jealous.

“Come on.” Suddenly Jefferson was beside her again, and took her hand in his, taking her plate with the other hand and setting it on the edge of the trestle table beside her. “There’s no way you’re missing this one.”

“What? No!” Belle protested, “Jefferson, I—”

“Yes,” he said, fixing her with a stern look completely at odds with everything else she had seen of him that evening, “Belle, _trust_ me. You want to do this.”

She frowned, sighing, but allowed him to lead her to where Gold and Regina, and now others of the excited party goers, were forming two large circles, one inside the other, alternating male and female in each ring.

Belle retained enough presence of mind to remember that a ‘Carole’ was a kind of medieval circle dance, but still, how was she supposed to join in with a dance when she didn’t know the steps?

“Jefferson…!” she started.

“Just watch the others, you’ll get the hang of it,” he said as though he knew what she was thinking.

As soon as the circles had settled, and an expectant kind of hush descended over the hall, Regina nodded her head toward the stage, and Leroy and the band struck up the music, and after a brief introduction was played through once, the circles began to move.

Each circle moved in opposite directions, and the pattern of steps seemed to work in groups of eight beats of the music. Belle kept a close eye on those to her left and right, as well as the person opposite her at any given time. First they stepped to the right for a count of eight, and then back again to the left. That part was easy enough, and brought her right back to Jefferson, who then guided her through the back and forth steps - stepping towards him first so that their right hands touched, and back, and then the same for their left hands. Finally, he took her right hand in his left, guided her all the way around his body, to return her to the middle circle once more.

The second set of steps differed slightly, and Belle tried not to panic. The first set of eight steps, the ones to the right, contained what she could only describe as a ‘swish’ on beats three and four, before her circle returned all eight steps to the left. This meant that when they came to a stop she had a new partner, a man she did not recognize, but who gave her a courteous nod of his head, before the second half of the pattern from before repeated step for step. In to the right, then in to the left, and around her new partner to return to her inner ring.

Just when she thought she had got the hang of the steps, on the third set, everything changed again. The promenade remained the same, with the swish, and a new partner at the end of it, but then instead of the in and out with her new dance partner, she and the person to her left, and their opposite partners all joined their right hands in a peak between them, and circled around to a count of four in a clockwise direction, then turned to join their left hands, and circle back counter-clockwise to the same count, finally breaking apart to to step toward their partner, with joined hands, and then circle around each other without touching.

In spite of being kept on her toes, both mentally and sometimes physically with the taller among her partners, Belle found herself beginning to enjoy the dance, and wondered what would come next. In the fourth set of steps she found that evening changed once more, and it made her chuckle a little out aloud. Once again the promenade remained the same, with the swish, bringing her to face a new partner, but then her new partner, far from maintaining his distance, stepped close to slip his right arm around her waist, much as she would have anticipated in a more modern social dance and instinctively she lifted her left to rest against his shoulder. They then shuffle stepped to her right for four counts, and back again to the left, before turning around, together, for the count of six, and on the last two beats of pattern he gave her a bow, and she bobbed a curtsy.

The whole of the dance then repeated, though maintaining the ‘swish’ in the first of the promenades, and as Belle became more confident and familiar with the steps, she found she put herself, heart and soul, into the dance; embracing it, letting herself truly become a part of it. It filled her with the warmth of belonging, somehow, which seemed to bring an infectious smile to those with whom she danced.

Twice more, through the pattern, and a third time, then, as they reached the last part of the repeat, she found herself face to face with Mister Gold.

Her belly flipped as the heated leather of his arm slipped around her waist and drew her toward him, her heart began to pound in her chest as she slipped her own hand onto the supple black leather at his shoulder. Where their other hands clasped together, toughed lightly, she felt her skin tingle fiercely; a sensation that reached, deep and low, to her more intimate of spaces, as he drew her closer still, so that when they moved, his powerful, leather-clad thighs pressed firmly against her own, and she moved with him as though one. When they turned, she felt as though she were floating, and tightened her grasp on his shoulder, feeling his breath against her cheek. It took her a moment to realize that he had lifted her, and her skirt billowed around her, like flowing water, before he set her down again, light as a feather, and gave her the deepest, most elegant of bows as he slipped the contact of his hands from her body, his arms spreading wide, palms up as though in supplication, as he murmured, “Miss Marchland.”

She dipped an equally heart-felt curtsy, lowering her eyes as she murmured his name in return, then looked up to find his eyes for _just_ a moment, and held there, as she held her breath. She felt as though she saw the world, _her_ world, reflected there in his deep brown eyes and tried to keep the moment for herself, but then she blinked, straightened and stepped into the last repeat of the dance, and he was gone, as though he had never been there. She did not see him again for the rest of the evening.


	24. Librarian

In spite of the excitement of the previous evening, Belle rose early, and rather than wake Ruby - who was dead to the world on the couch - she decided to head to Granny’s for an early morning cup of tea, and perhaps something to eat. She could bring something back for Ruby to have when she woke up.

She chuckled as she descended the stairs, remembering the way that Ruby practically had to be _prized_ from Gus’ lap in the back of Jefferson’s car when they got back to the library. They had behaved as though they had been trying to _eat_ one another.

The thought made her blush, especially as hard on the heels of it she decided it was probably good that Mister Gold seemed to have found his own way home from the ball. She didn’t even know when he had left, only that after the ending of the Carole - and the thought of _that_ made her blush strengthen - she had not seen him again.

She pushed open the door to Granny’s, and smiled as Granny bustled in from the kitchen, the scowl falling from her face as she saw who it was.

“Belle,” she said, “this is a nice surprise.”

Belle smiled in return. “Thank you,” she said. “I thought I’d treat myself today.”

“What can I get you?” Granny asked.

“I’d like a pot of your hot tea, please,” Belle said, and then as almost an afterthought added, “And could I get some toast and jelly?”

“Toast and Jelly?” Granny echoed as though she thought Belle was going out of her mind. “You call that treating yourself?”

“Well,” Belle hedged, “It’s all so good.”

“Flattery will get your everywhere, my dear,” Granny said with a chuckle, and Belle warmed with fondness.

“It was good to see you enjoying yourself last night, Granny,” she said.

“When you get to be my age,” Granny began bustling around behind the counter, gathering the tea things to put on a tray, “you don’t pass up the opportunities presented to you. Besides,” she said as the doorbell tinkled behind Belle, “I’m not the only one to have had a good time.” Granny nodded upwards, pointing with her chin toward the doorway, and Belle turned her head to see Mister Gold, making his way toward the counter. He was limping heavily, and leaning rather more than usual on his cane.

She turned to face him then, and greeted him with a concerned frown on her face. “Mister Gold, Good morning.”

“Miss Marchland,” he said. “I trust that that Jefferson saw you safely home after the Mayor’s Ball.”

She smiled. “He did, thank you for asking.” Then, with a gesture toward him asked, “Are you all right?”

He smiled tightly, a wry expression on his face as he answered, “Alas, the price of my self indulgence last evening.”

“Oh,” she said, distress coloring her voice as she felt responsible for that, “I’m sorry, I—”

“Please,” Mister Gold said, and held up a hand, “Don’t be. It was quite worth today’s difficulties.”

Belle thought to ask about the other man that he’d been speaking with, but in the end thought better of it, and instead asked, “I’m about to have tea. Would you care to join me?”

“I should be delighted,” he told her, but a look of regret settled over his face as he continued, “Unfortunately, however, I have business to attend to this morning that can’t wait.”

“Oh,” said Belle, unable to keep the disappointment from sounding in her voice, and blushing slight at the thought of it, wondering where her sudden desire to spend time with her landlord had come from, given that she hadn’t _really_ changed her opinion of him as being annoying, rude and bad tempered. Exactly the opposite of the way he was behaving that morning.

Granny chose that moment to interrupt their awkwardness, by placing a ‘to go’ cup and a brown paper bag on the counter nearby to Mister Gold.

“There you go, Gold,” she said. “The usual.”

He placed a bill onto the counter, and briefly gestured in a roundabout kind of way, which evidently Granny understood, because she nodded and tucked the money away into the register without providing Gold with any change.

“Another time, perhaps.”

It took Belle a moment to realize that Mister Gold was talking to her, referring to their taking tea together, and she smiled, and nodded her thanks, biting the inside of her cheek to keep herself from blushing again. What _was_ it about the man that he could do that to her all the time.

Mister Gold smiled in return, then nodded respectfully to first Belle and then to Granny. “Good day, Miss Marchland; Missus Lucas,” he said, then picked up his things, and headed for the exit.

Belle watched him go, shaking her head, just slightly.

“Conundrum, isn’t he?” Granny observed. “Complete gentleman one minute, then total _tool_ the next.” She gestured to one of the comfortable booths against the window. “Go and have a seat. I’ll bring you your breakfast.”

_Courtesy of Mister Gold_ , Belle realized then, and couldn’t help but blush.

* * *

Belle, with Ruby’s help, worked around the clock to ensure that she would meet her own self imposed deadline for getting the library open. She dressed carefully that first day, wanting to make a good impression; wanting to be the right mix of approachable, but professional. In the end she decided on a salmon pink, flared skirt, a sleeveless blue sweater top with red checks and a ruffled neckline, and high heeled black and nude shoes.

She was nervous, she realized, as she went downstairs and turned on the library lights, checking one more time to be certain that the circulation desk was ready, the members cards of those who had already registered were waiting to be given to their owners, and that all the books were in place. Then, before she changed her mind she unlocked the library doors, and since it was a rare, but nice day - if a little chilly - propped open the doors, and stood waiting, smiling behind the circulation desk.

For a while, no one came, and she started to worry, and then to feel a little disappointed, but as more people began to be around, one by one, they made their way into the library. 

Mary Margaret, Storybrooke’s school teacher flitted in as though she were in a hurry, and fluttered around all of the bookshelves, looking but not touching, maneuvering back and forth between the stacks. Belle left her to her investigations for some time before she approached her, asking softly, “Is there anything I can help you with?”

Glancing at the shelves, Belle saw there were in the stacks for 598, the section on birds and started running through her knowledge of which books she had that a school teacher might find interesting… but not just any school teacher, but one with an affinity for living things.

“Around this time of year I teach my children about caring for the birds, make them a project to build their own little bird house. I was looking for something to read for myself, that might… help me to tell stories to engage them,” Mary Margaret said. “So that they don’t just think of it as something that they _have_ to do, but what other people _like_ to do.”

“I know _just_ the thing,” Belle said, beaming brightly, and she searched along the shelf until she found what she was looking for. She took the book and carefully handed it to the woman in the snow white jacket, who took it carefully, running her eyes over the beautiful picture on the cover: a close up of a purple headed hummingbird with a long black beak and gray breast feathers.

“ _Fastest Things On Wings_ ,” Mary Margaret read the title aloud.

Belle nodded. “The author rescues and rehabilitates hummingbirds, and that’s what her book is about,” She nodded at the book. “All of her experiences doing that. I think you’ll like it.”

Mary Margaret smiled broadly, and hugged the book to her chest. “I think it will be perfect.”

“Well, take your time,” Belle said, “Look around. I’ll be at the desk when you are ready to check out.”

She moved away then, leaving the school teacher to her browsing. When Mary Margaret came to the desk a short time later, she was _still_ clutching the book to her chest. Belle gave her a smile as she checked out the book.

A steady stream of people came in and out of the library, most of them knowing what section of the library they wanted, some even which books, and there were still some others that were only browsing. After a while though, Belle saw a young man hovering around the section of the library where the few books the library contained about pregnancy and childbirth were shelved. He looked worried, and a little guilty.

She approached him slowly, not wanting to scare him off, because a part of him looked like a man who needed help. In the end, when he saw her, he was the one to speak first.

“She… she’s pregnant, my girlfriend. Well she _was_ my girlfriend, but my father says I shouldn’t have anything to do with her,” he explained, “but I don’t think that’s right… and I… I want to know, you know?”

Belle smiled, managing to piece together the fragments of his tale to fit together into a more cohesive story in her mind. It wasn’t her place to give advice to the young man, or tell him to go against his father’s wishes, but it was clear to her - as clear as the light coming in through the windows - that he really wanted to be involved but was perhaps too afraid to try.

“I think,” she said slowly, “That it’s great that you’re interested in what’s going on with your girlfriend, but would you trust me to make a suggestion?”

“Anything,” he said. “I’m _really_ confused right now.”

“And really unhappy, it looks like,” she remarked. “Come with me.”

She led him out of the medical section and into the psychology section of the library, where she searched for a moment for the book she wanted to give him. _Diary Of An Unborn Child_ , was somewhat alternative in its thinking, but she’d heard that many people of both sexes enjoyed reading the book and it somehow helped them to enjoy the time leading up to their child’s birth.

“Here,” she handed the book to him. “Try this. It might help you make up your mind about what _you_ want to do.”

He looked from the book, to Belle and back again, and then smiled. “Thank you,” he said quietly. She gave his arm a squeeze, and left him to find a place, where he sat, and began to read the first few pages of the book.

The afternoon was even busier than the morning had been, and Belle was practically rushed off her feet, helping people to find things to read, picking up the books that had been browsed then left on the tables in the library and setting them aside for later re-shelving, registering new readers, and checking out the books that they had chosen.

As evening rolled around, she managed a moment to herself and pulled one of the chairs from the table in the back of the library up to the side of the circulation desk and sat for a moment to rest her feet. As she sat, she noticed a girl of around nine or ten years old, hovering nearby to the door of the library. She had obviously not yet been home from school, as she still wore her school coat, and a backpack on her back, and on her head, against the chill she wore a gray woolen hat, with a pink and white scarf around her neck which didn’t at all match anything else. She couldn’t help but wonder who the girl was.

Belle stood again, and approached the doors, calling out a soft greeting to the girl, and then frowned when the child looked as if she were about to bolt.

“Hey it’s all right,” she said quietly, “It’s all right. You can come in if you want. The library is for everyone.”

The girl looked hesitant for a moment, indecisive, and then she said, “Thank you, but it’s okay. I should be going now. Thank you…” and then turned and with her head down, hurried away, leaving Belle frowning in a mix of worry and confusion, but there was little she could do - for now at least - except to keep an eye out for the girl, and maybe to ask around to see if anyone could tell her who she was.

It wasn’t until around nine-thirty in the evening that Belle began to realize that the one person she had hoped would show up on the library’s opening day was the one person who had been - if not instrumental - then at the very least important to it happening at all. Mister Gold had been conspicuous by his absence. It took every ounce of self control for her not to go out of the library and cross the street to see if the light was on in his shop, but she decided that he was truly an obstinate man, and she wasn’t about to go chasing around after him.

She nodded to herself, and began the process of packing up for the night, picking up books to shelve them ready for the next day, when one of the books caught her eye, and she slipped it back onto the circulation desk rather than the cart for re-shelving. She had wanted to return the favor and share some of her favorite poems with Hunter, and decided that John Ashbery’s _Rivers and Mountains_ was a good place to start. She would just have to take it out to the tree where she had left the first book for him.

It was a nice evening, and the moon would be quite bright outside of town, so she supposed a late evening walk wouldn’t hurt, but by the time she got upstairs to where Ruby was lounging on the couch with a large glass of wine in one hand - and another on the table for Belle, of which she gratefully took a long drink - and a plate with a slice of chocolate cake in the other hand, she realized just how tired she was.

“Hey,” Ruby said, “I didn’t think you were ever coming up.”

“Sorry,” Belle said, “I should have told you the library hours.” She flopped down onto the sofa beside Ruby, somehow managing not to spill the wine from her glass and reached out to steal a morsel of chocolate cake from her friend’s platter. Then, she rested her head against the side of Ruby’s shoulder. “Gods, my feet are killing me… actually, I ache all _over_.”

Ruby chuckled. “Why don’t you go take a nice bubble bath,” she suggested, “And when you come out, you can have a piece of cake all to yourself.”

“Hmmm,” Belle made a sound of appreciation. “That’s very good, by the way.”

“Why, thank you,” Ruby gave a half seated little bow, somehow, dislodging Belle from her shoulder.

“As tempting as it is though, I was going to go and take a walk… leave another book for Hunter, by the tree, you know…?”

“Belle!” Ruby’s playfulness evaporated in an instant, as she turned sideways on the couch to look at her. “Seriously, is that what you really want? Is he really?”

Belle sighed, and shrugged, torn between the romance of the poetry and Hunter’s easy going attentiveness, and the aloof, prickliness and courtly stiffness of the still-mysterious Mister Gold.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she huffed at last. “It was just… an idea.”

Ruby reached out, and plucked the wine glass from her hand just as she was about to take a sip and set it down on the coffee table, before pushing Belle up off the couch.

“Well, girlfriend,” she said. “You go soak yourself in that lovely claw-foot tub your landlord furnished your bathroom with. Then see where your ideas take you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Books and authors, mentioned in this chapter:
> 
> Fastest Things On Wings, by Terry Masear
> 
> Diary Of An Unborn Child, by Manuel David Coudris
> 
> Rivers and Mountains, by John Ashbery


	25. Unexpected Ally

Once word got around that the library was open, up and running, Belle had a very busy few days almost rushed off her feet with the number of new subscribers she had registered. She had no idea there were even so many _people_ in Storybrooke. For a sleepy little town in Maine, it certainly seemed to have a lot of residents. Not that she was complaining, not really. It helped to keep her mind off the still missing Mister Gold - being too busy to wonder very much.

It didn’t help her to avoid noticing that there were still far too many spaces on the selves, and that she didn’t have sufficient books in the library for her liking, so she spent one of her lunch breaks sitting at the computer in the library looking online and trying to source new books. She found another branch library in a rural town nearby was closing down due to lack of public funding, and though it saddened her more than she could say, it also filled her with a sense of hope and excitement, and she telephoned the head librarian there right away, securing the bulk of the books to fill the self spaces in Storybrooke’s repository of books.

And not a moment too soon, as it should happen, because while her landlord and secret benefactor - or so it seemed anyway - was still notably absent, the mayor, fast becoming her greatest nemesis, was not. Regina Mills breezed into the library with her nose in the air, practically sweeping her fingertips along surfaces like a mother-in-law checking for dust.

“Well, Miss Marchland,” the mayor said after turning to look at her. “You certainly seemed to have managed to liven the place up a little, if nothing else.”

“Yes,” Belle replied, trying to keep her voice light and polite, although Regina was like a dark cloud over a picnic. “I’ve had a lot of people come in to register.”

“And to borrow books, it would seem.”

“What do you mean?” Belle frowned, wondering what the comment was meant to be criticizing now - because she had no doubt it was.

“The selves are somewhat… sparse, dear,” she said. “We did _give_ you a budget for the library. I distinctly remember signing off on it - against my better judgment, I might add.”

Belle had had enough and folding her arms across her chest demanded, “Then why _did_ you?”

“Everything to do with library was voted on and approved by the town council. I _told_ them they were wasting their time and Storybrooke’s budget, that this little… social experiment wouldn’t last, but… it _appears_ you have some influential people in this town already on your side.”

“I wasn’t aware there was a need to _take_ sides,” Belle grumbled under her breath.

“What was that, dear?” Even before Belle opened her mouth to answer, the mayor waved her away. “Never mind. As soon as people see how limited their choices are, they just won’t be coming any more, and we’ll be able to close this place down.”

She turned on her heel then and headed back toward the front door, but Belle hurried from behind the circulation desk and put herself firmly in the mayor’s path. Forcing her to stop walking or run into her.

“Why do you hate me so much?” she demanded, throwing up her hands, “What have I _ever_ done to _you?”_

Regina laughed, which fueled Belle’s irritation, and she could feel her color rising in the wake of her irritation.

“My dear Miss Marchland,” the mayor said as her laughter subsided a little. “Hate you?” She shook her head. “It’s as I told you at the ball, and it’s as true now as it was then. It is _most_ fitting that you should be in peasants clothing - as a servant.” She looked around, then looked down at her immaculately painted fingernails as she added, “It’s all you’ll ever amount to, anyway. Besides…” she reached out and pushed Belle aside with two fingers as though she were touching something distasteful before she started walking again toward the door, as she said, “…why waste time hating someone who’s going to do your work _for_ you?”

It took everything that Belle was not to run out after her; to keep her calm and not call after her with words a lady should _never_ use. What the _hell_ did she mean? What was it that Regina Mills thought she was going to do to further her seemingly twisted plans for the townsfolk of Storybrooke. It seemed as though the mayor just wanted everyone to be miserable.

Deliberately, she returned to the circulation desk and engaged in a few mundane tasks to try and rid her mind of the unpleasantness of the visit. It didn’t work. All she could think about was the way the mayor seemed to think that the library would fail, that the people in town were not really interested in patronizing the establishment so close to Belle’s heart. She looked at the stack of registration cards off to the left of the desk - completed registration cards - that still needed to be filed, and it made her chuckle. The sight of the tall stack was a comfort, a reassurance that whatever Mayor Mills thought was refuted by the facts, and that so long as she kept the books well stocked - and she already had that in hand _without_ delving into the actual library budget - then the people would keep on coming.

She smiled, and glanced at her watch. It was almost time for the first of her planned community activities: Storybrooke Story Time, and she wandered over to the area she had already set up that morning with a large area rug, many colorful scatter cushions, and a place for the story-teller - which today would be her - to sit. She’d tried to make sure people knew about it, and had even asked Mary Margaret to let the parents at the school know when it would be happening. Still, after her morning visitor, she worried just a little that no one would come.

She need not have. The moment that the appointed time came around, beginning as a little trickle, at first, and then many people arriving together, parents and children came and took spots on the cushions and on the carpet. Some parents asked if they could leave their little ones while they ran to the store, and although Belle was uncertain at first, the looks of desperation she saw in their eyes - the need for the chance to shop without having to field wheedling requests for cookies and candy, to actually buy their groceries and sundries in peace - made Belle agree, “So long as you’re back by the end,” she would add with a smile and a light touch to their arm.

While she was putting the finishing touches to the event, and setting out small cups of juice, and little containers each with a healthy snack for later, when she suspected the children, especially the younger ones, would need a break, one of the parent’s who had stayed hopped into the ‘Teller’s Chair’ and began leading the children in a song. Belle smiled, happy that things were going well.

Of course, the thought was an invitation for _something_ to go wrong. Even so, she was surprised when she felt a light tap on her shoulder as she was filling the last of the juice cups, and straightened up, turning to see the Sheriff standing behind her.

“Sheriff Humbert,” she greeted him with a smile, “Can I help you?”

“Good afternoon, Miss Marchland,” he began, but she could tell that he felt… awkward, uncomfortable just by the look on his face. “Miss Marchland,” he said again, “I’m sorry to bust in on you like this, but, well, I was passing just now, and I saw some of the parents leave the building without their children.”

“Yes,” Belle said, with a frown, not quite understanding what the Sheriff was driving at. “They asked to run to the store while I was reading the story to the children.”

“See,” Graham Humbert ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “This is very awkward, but… they can’t actually do that. The town of Storybrooke - your employer you understand - doesn’t actually have a background check on file for you yet, so…”

“Oh my God!” Belle exclaimed perhaps a little too loudly, as some of the parents looked around. Belle lowered her voice and leaned closer to the sheriff, speaking confidentially despite her mounting irritation. “Oh my God,” she repeated. “Regina put you up to this, didn’t she?”

“We have to abide by the law, Miss Marchland. I’m sure you understand,” he said, and his non-answer led Belle to believe that she had been entirely right in her accusation.

“Yes, but—” Belle began, but the sheriff held up a hand.

“And the law says you can’t be left alone with children that aren’t your own without first receiving a satisfactory criminal background check,” he offered her a smile then, and with almost a cheeky twinkle in his eye added, “Just so happens that I’m due for a break now, so… if you don’t mind reading a story to a grown up boy…” he gesture toward the circulation desk, and to the new flat packed office chair that leaned against the side of it. “I could even put that together for you while I listen.”

Belle let out the breath she’d be holding, and smiled broadly, throwing a quick hug around the sheriff before she realized what she’d done.

“Thank you, Sheriff,” she said as she pulled back.

“Graham,” he told her. “I’m off the clock, remember? Go on, go read your story. I’ll try not to make too much noise.”

Story time, once it was underway, was a huge hit. Belle didn’t think she would ever get used to the sight of all the attentive faces, eyes wide, looking her way as she told the story as expressively as she could. Time flew past, and they even managed to get through snack time without too much of a mess or too many spills. One of the parents who had stayed through the whole thing volunteered to bring the juice and snacks for the next time, and _all_ of the parents who had run their errands returned on time to collect their children.

“Seems like that was quite the success,” Graham said as he wheeled over the now constructed office chair, echoing Belle’s thoughts.

She smiled her thanks at him, and nodding at the chair, said, “And it looks like you were successful too.”

He chuckled, shaking his head and said, “Don’t say that until you’ve tried it out. If you want to come over to the office some time this week, I can take your fingerprints and get that background check done for you.”

“Thank you,” Belle said. “I’ll do that.”

“Not that I didn’t enjoy the story, by the way,” he added quickly.

“I understand,” she said, “and thank you for sticking your neck out for me.”

He shrugged as if to tell her that he didn’t see it that way, and he didn’t mind, but Belle knew, could sense that there was more to it than he was telling.

“I’d best be on my way,” he said.

Belle walked with him to the door, deciding to prop one of them open to let in some fresh air, and she noticed the same girl she had spotted on the day the library opened. The girl was hovering nearby, looking almost longingly at the library doors. Belle stepped outside and waved the sheriff off as he drove away, then as she turned she offered the girl a greeting.

“Hi,” she said, “have you been out here the whole time?” The girl shrugged, but this time didn’t run away, so Belle ventured, “Would you like to come in and have a look around?”

The girl was hesitant, but when Belle began to walk back toward the library doors, she followed and stepped inside. Belle didn’t want to spook her, or crowd her, because the girl seemed a little skittish, so she set about starting to clean up the discarded cups and paper plates, and after a while the girl moved to help.

“It’s lovely in here,” the girl said as she reached out to put some plates into the trash bag that Belle held open.

“Thank you,” she said. “I’ve tried to make it welcoming.”

The girl nodded, then asked, “What story did you read today?”

Belle paused in her tidying and picked up the book she had read from where she had set it on the Teller’s Chair. She held it out to the girl, who - still hesitantly at first - took it, and turned to settled on a cushion, and begin to read the book. Belle continued tidying, giving her time, and when the girl looked up Belle said, “You could have joined us, you know?” The girl shrugged, so Belle asked, “Do you like books?”

“I _love_ books and stories,” the girl blurted out, then looked embarrassed as she handed back the book.

“You can borrow them, you know. That’s what the library is for after all,” Belle answered.

“But… I don’t have a card,” 

“I can help you fill out a card, and then you can take it with you and get your parents to sign it.”

The girl shook her head, looking embarrassed. “Mother wouldn’t like it,” she said, and Belle frowned, but didn’t want to press the girl. It wasn’t her place to pry, after all. “Can I help you put the books away?”

“Of course,” Belle said, then after a moment’s thought she said, “I’ll tell you what, why don’t you stop by on your way home from school a few days a week, and you can help out with shelving the books and tidying up. It would be a great help for me, and if you wanted to read a little bit before you left for home…” she trailed off, letting the girl work things out for herself, then added, “My name’s Belle, by the way.”

“I’m Paige,” the girl answered. “And can you maybe help me with my homework sometimes?”

By the time Paige left, the library was practically spotless, and Belle was glad that she was able to help the girl, even though she still didn’t know very much about her. She liked her, and somehow she seemed strangely familiar, as if she’d seen her before, and not just in passing, or knew her parents even though she was certain that couldn’t be the case.

Though she was still trying to work out the library’s opening hours, Belle decided that she would close earlier than usual that day, posting a notice on the doors to the effect that library hours were under review. Then she headed upstairs, to the apartment, where she practically collided with Ruby who was coming out of the bathroom, in nothing but a robe, still toweling her hair dry.

“You’re early,” Ruby said.

“Yes,” Belle answered, “I thought we could maybe do something. We haven’t really had much time since you got here.”

Ruby’s face became a mask of regret. “I’m sorry, Belle,” she said, “I already have plans.”

“You have a date?” Belle asked, her tone one of surprise, though given what happened at the mayor’s ball it shouldn’t have been so unexpected.

“Sort of,” Ruby said, and Belle raised an eyebrow and said, “There are a bunch of us going to the Rabbit Hole. You should come. It’ll be fun.”

“No,” said Belle, rather more vehemently than she meant to, so trying again said more softly, “No thank you. It’s not really my cup of tea.”

“You sure?” Ruby looked guilty, and Belle didn’t want that. She wanted her friend to have fun.

“Yes, of course. You go, have a good time.” She told her. “It’ll give me a chance to try out that new cookie recipe that I found.”

“Belle—” Ruby started, but she cut her off.

“No, seriously, it’s fine.” Belle offered a smile, and then gave her friend a push toward the bedroom. “Get dressed, you don’t want to keep them waiting.” Ruby leaned down and kissed her cheek, and Belle gave her a tight hug in return, murmuring, “Knock ‘em dead.”


	26. Rivers, Mountains and Flowers

After Ruby left, the apartment suddenly seemed too quiet and empty, ridiculous as that sounded to Belle since she hadn’t been _in_ the apartment all day long. Normally when she felt this way, she would go down to the library and do an extra bit of tidying, but thanks to Paige, there really was nothing to do. She wandered through to the kitchen. She hadn’t been making it up when she spoke of the new recipe she had found, that she wanted to try, but she wasn’t sure she was in the mood for baking either. She was restless, and really didn’t know _what_ she wanted to do. In the end, she put on some sturdy walking shoes, grabbed her coat against the evening chill, and took herself out for a walk.

She hadn’t _intended_ to end up at the tree by The Bend. Nor had she intended to to pick up the book of poetry that she had been looking at on the day the library opened, and had thought it would be good to give the book to Hunter, nor to slip a note inside. In fact after the bath that Ruby had suggested she take and actually _think_ about what she wanted, she had assured Ruby that she wouldn’t act until she _was_ sure… and she still wasn’t.

The two girls had argued earlier, when Belle had run up from the library to grab a quick lunch and Belle had told Ruby about the other books that she had secured from another local library.

_Ruby looked at Belle as though she had just proposed the more heinous crime in the history of crimes._

_“You_ can’t _ask Hunter. For one thing if he gets caught it will get him into trouble. He could lose his job. Do you want that?”_

_“Of course I don’t, just—”_

_“And_ second _of all, even if he_ doesn’t _get caught, don’t you think that it’s exploiting him just a little bit?” Ruby asked, and Belle could see that she was trying to be gentle about it, but, the following words still hurt. “Belle, the two of you aren’t together, and_ you _don’t even know what you want from the man. Asking him something like this is the kind of favor you ask… well… you know.”_

_“Well, it’s all right for you!” Belle snapped. She didn’t usually get so defensive, but - and it was hard enough to admit it to herself, let alone out aloud to anyone else - she was_ jealous _of Ruby. Jealous and lonely… well, not lonely exactly, but…”_

She sighed and leaned against the tree for a moment, remembering; reflecting, “Yes, Belle. Lonely,” she whispered aloud. She settled down on her haunches, wrapping her arms around her bent knees. It was a strange kind of loneliness though; the kind of loneliness that she knew she shouldn’t feel, because there was someone she should be with; would be with. She felt _right_ there in Storybrooke, right and at home, but there was _still_ something missing. She felt as though, if she were just to reach out, everything would fall into place. The only problem was that she didn’t know what was the right direction to reach. What if she’d already _seen_ that person, and now it was up to her to do the reaching.

Decision made, she slipped _Rivers and Mountains_ , by John Ashbery into the clear zip-lock bag that she’d brought with her, and moved to slip it onto the side of the tree that had the nail in. Then, she gasped. Hanging from the nail was a large clear plastic bag, and inside the bag where flowers of every type she could imagine. Even in the dying light of the evening she could see the myriad colors and types of wildflowers, and when she put her nose near to the bag, the sweet scent of them surrounded her. They were beautiful. It was so romantic a gesture for Hunter to have gathered them as he drove between Boston and Storybrooke. He must have been waiting for her to spot them, and wondering what she would leave for him, in their place. She had been right about him all along, and she would prove it.

With a renewed spring in her step she turned down the pathway that would ultimately take her back to town the long way, by way of the forest, and perhaps dusk, rapidly coming on night time was not exactly the best of times to be walking an unfamiliar path through thick woodlands, it was just a part of her adventurous nature to go and do things the hard way. She had a flashlight in her bag, after all.

As she walked, a little way in on the other side of the creek, she saw a little clearing that she hadn’t noticed before, when she’d ridden to the lamb with Mister Gold in his car. Then, she’d been more focused on the idea of going to help the sheep than she was, as now, learning the lie of the land. There was a smattering of tiny bluebells in the clearing, and Belle clutched the bag of wildflowers more tightly for a moment, her imagination paining pictures of Hunter, seeing such flowers along his route, stopping the truck and taking care to collect them for her. The thought made her smile.

She moved on after a little while, finding she had to turn on the flashlight as night fell as she followed the track. Without thinking about it, as she reached the gap in the trees that led into the open field, she shone her flashlight that way, and was surprised to see Mister Gold’s Cadillac parked almost exactly where they had stopped the night of the lambing. Curiosity got the better of her, and she turned her footsteps that way.

She had barely walked for a minute or so when, out of the darkness came the panting, black and white shape of Aspen, hurrying towards her. His manner was alert, for the barest of moments as though he would attack, but just when the dog got close enough for her to properly make out his markings, she saw that his manner had already relaxed, and he came to a stop, sitting, with his tail thumping the damp earth behind him.

“Hello, boy,” she said to him. “What are you doing out here all by yourself?”

As if in answer, the dog leaped up to his feet and ran of into the field, in a direction slightly at an angle to the way they had walked before. She followed Aspen, and before too long, heard the quiet burr of Mister Gold’s voice speaking gently to someone, before addressing the dog, which she could hear far more clearly than his previous, soft tones.

As she got closer still, she could see, in the faint light of the lantern that sat at his feet, that Mister Gold was perched on a low stool outside of a small stone built shelter. In his hand he held a bottle, from which a small lamb was drinking hungrily.

“Miss Marchland?” There was a note of surprise in his voice.

“Yes,” she answered and stepped into the circle of light, looking alternately between the lamb and Mister Gold, “What are you doing?”

“I would have thought that self evident,” he answered.

“Well, I mean, yes, but… why?” she asked. “Is that one of the twins?”

Gold shook his head. “The twins weren’t the only lambs born this season,” he said. “And this one…” he sighed, “Well, his mother didn’t want him.”

“What?” she said, unable to keep the shock from her voice. “Why?”

He sighed again, and looking at the lamb as it pulled hungrily at the bottle, and stroking its little head with his free hand said, “He wasn’t wanted by his mother,” His tone was full of regret, and quieter yet as he added, “It happens sometimes.”

Everything inside of Belle screamed at her that he was talking about more than just the lamb, and she itched to ask, even though she knew it was none of her business, and even if it were, she didn’t enjoy the kind of relationship with Gold where they could talk about such things.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice full of kindness, and Gold looked up. In the dim light, his eyes were dark reflecting pools, full of meaning, and the unknown both at the same time, and for a moment she imagined she had seen into their darker depths somewhere before. Impossible, of course, but it made her shiver with a sense of longing, and she fought the urge to reach out and place a hand onto his shoulder. She doubted such a touch would be welcome.

“It’s hardly your fault,” he said, breaking the spell as she snapped back to the moment.

“I know, but…” she began. “Does it mean you have to come here every day?”

He shook his head. “Mostly Dove takes care of them,” he said, “But he’s… away on an errand for me currently, so to cover for him is the least I can do.”

“Right,” she said shifting, suddenly self consciously, from one foot to the other.

“And you, Miss Marchland,” he said, and nodded toward the bag she carried. “Were you out gathering wild flowers?”

She clutched the bag to herself, suddenly defensive and wanting to tell him it was none of his damn business what she’d been doing, but instead she just shook her head.

“An admirer then?” he asked.

Again, she shook her head in denial, though her thoughts turned to Hunter, and the imagined journey of many stops to fill the bag with wild flowers to leave for her to find.

“I just… I had nothing to do at home so I thought I’d take a walk,” she said.

“And yet,” he gestured with his free hand toward the bag she cradled, “flowers.”

Before she could think of a suitable retort, the lamb finished the bottle and Gold set it down, and scooped up the lamb, carrying it over to a small pen nearby, and set it into a hay-lined kennel of sorts, letting Aspen into the pen along with the lamb. The dog went right inside with the lamb and curled up around it, to keep it warm.

“Good dog,” Gold crooned, making Belle smile in spite of her irritation at Gold’s prying.

“You’re just going to… leave him here?” she asked, as she watched Gold packing up, taking the stool he’d been sitting on back into the small stone shelter.

“Yes,” he said, as though it were obvious.

“Alone?” she pressed.

“Dove will be back soon,” he said, “He won’t be alone for long, and besides, this is his job. He knows what to do.”

“And he lives here, does he?” Belle asked, “Mister Dove?”

Gold blinked at her and frowned. “Of course not,” he said. “Dove has a house in Storybrooke, but during lambing season, he often stays here to keep an eye on the animals.” He nodded toward the shelter, and for the first time, Belle poked her head inside. In the building was a low cot, and a small, wood burning, pot bellied stove, presumably for warmth, with a stack of wood beside it.

“I… see,” she said slowly.

“And are you quite satisfied that I am not mistreating my employees now?” Mister Gold asked, sardonic, but for a _hint_ of a teasing tone behind his words.

Belle blushed, glad of the darkness in which to hide her scarlet face.

“Mister Gold,” she said, with as much indignation as she could muster. “I think you’re quite impossible.”

Gold chuckled. “Indeed, Miss Marchland, I am a difficult man to love.” Belle blushed even more, wondering who in the hell had said anything about love, she wasn’t sure she even _liked_ the man. “I do, however, endeavor to be a gentleman wherever possible,” Gold went on, “In the spirit of which, may I offer you a ride home?”

She wanted to refuse, but if truth be told, she was getting tired, and the prospect of the long walk home to Storybrooke so late at night was no longer as appealing as it had been.

“Thank you,” she said, “That would be very… gentlemanly.”

Gold smiled, and offered her a tiny bow, before he finished clearing away what was left of the feeding session, and then led the way to his car. Belle followed, her mind replaying the contents of their short conversation, her thoughts returning to his comment about the abandonment of the lamb, and the assessment of himself as being a difficult man… and in her thoughts she could not bring herself to complete the phrase he’d used, but she could not refute his assertion that he was, where possible, a gentleman, as he opened the door for her, and saw her safely seated inside before he got into the car himself.

The drive back to Storybrooke was made in relative silence, and Belle thought that Gold seemed as preoccupied with his own thoughts as she was with hers. When they pulled up outside of the library, and Gold got out of the car to come and open up her door for her, Belle couldn’t help but smile, and before she could censor herself, she asked, “Would you like to come up for a cup of tea?”

“Very kind of you,” he said as he walked her toward the door, “But not for me, thank you. I must take myself home to bed.” He waited with her, however, while she unlocked and opened the door, then as she stepped though, added, “Good night, Miss Marchland. Enjoy your flowers.”


	27. Books and Boxes

Belle closed the door to the apartment with a decided bang, deliberately designed to get Ruby up out of bed, and set the bag of breakfast confections she’d purchased at Granny’s after her early morning walk, and the to-go cups of coffee - both for Ruby - on the counter before filling and switching on the kettle to make herself tea. This had become almost a routine for the two women, since Ruby’s ‘vacation’ had somehow extended further and further until she had apparently taken a leave of absence, all without telling her friend. It wasn’t that Belle was _angry_ per se, just that she would have liked to know, especially as it seemed that Ruby’s love life was… well it was head-spinning at best. Belle could never tell who she was going on a date with on any given day, and she felt sorry for Gus who asked after Ruby whenever he saw Belle.

Meanwhile, since she had given her assurances to Ruby that she wouldn’t act on asking Hunter to help her with the shipment of books from the other rural library - and she had kept that promise - nor the one after that, which she’d purchased from a second library in the suburbs of Boston that was also closing down, Belle’s own, and still strange, loneliness continued unabated.

By some strange quirk of fate, however, the books she had arranged for Storybrooke library to have, arrived anyway, left tucked away in a forgotten corner of the cannery for Belle to collect late one evening after she received an email to let her know they were there. It had taken some work to persuade Ruby to go with her and help her to load the van, and of course her friend didn’t at all believe her when she said she’d had nothing to do with it, and hadn’t asked Hunter to do it at all.

“Remember what I said that one time before, about me being the Mother Superior of that convent?” Ruby snapped, even as she got into the passenger side of the van. Belle said nothing and evidently Ruby took it for confirmation of remembering and said, “Well, ditto.”

Belle sighed, “Ruby, what can I do _or_ say to make you believe that I didn’t _do_ this?”

“Nothing,” Ruby said. “And Belle, you know, it really _isn’t_ on. I mean, I know I’ve not exactly been Hunter’s biggest fan and all that, but… did you ever think what might happen if he got caught hauling contraband.”

“You make it sound like drugs or something,” Belle muttered as she started the engine, and turned around in the road to head out toward the docks and the cannery.

“It might as well be,” Ruby said. “He could get into trouble; get fired. Is that what you want?”

“It’s _books_ , Ruby,” Belle threw up her hands, “and of course I don’t.”

“Hands on the wheel!” Ruby squeaked, grabbing hold of the handle above the door until Belle once more gripped the steering wheel and took a calming breath.

“And for the last time, I didn’t ask Hunter to bring the books.”

“Then who the hell did?” Ruby wanted to know, and turned in the seat until she was facing Belle. “Father Christmas?”

Belle glanced over at Ruby. “I don’t. Know,” she said with no small amount of finality.

They were silent then, and for the whole of the journey, _and_ all the while they were loading the many boxes of books, cramming the last of them into the cab with the two of them so that Ruby ended up sitting cross legged on the seat with the boxes pressing against her bent knees, there were so many, and then Ruby stomped off up to the apartment, leaving Belle to unpack the books by herself.

By the time she had taken them in, each and every one, and stacked them beside the circulation desk the physical exertion had left her very tired, but no less irritated with her friend. She was afraid that if she went upstairs now, she would only start off another argument, and she didn’t want that. She didn’t want to make things worse.

As the same time though she’d be damned if she’d let anyone, least of all Ruby, accuse her of doing something that she really hadn’t done, and so, as petulant and childish as it might have been she made herself a little nest of cushions, and bundled together some of throws she had put in the children’s corner to keep herself warm and prepared to spend the night downstairs in the library.

She woke up the following morning, stiff and sore, and just as irritated, though not at Ruby, but at herself for behaving the way she had the night before, and so she mounted the stairs quietly after tidying away the evidence of her foolishness, and slipped into the apartment, expecting to find Ruby still sleeping on the couch.

“I owe you an apology,” Ruby’s voice, coming from the kitchen made her jump, and then look up guiltily to find her friend looking at her with a raised eyebrow that promised a different kind of ‘hard time’ that she’d be getting later.

“I do too,” she answered. “I shouldn’t have lost my temper.”

Ruby shook her head, “And I shouldn’t have accused you, especially when you said you hadn’t done it. You’ve never told me a lie before, why would you start now?” Belle looked down at her fingernails not quite knowing what to say, so it was Ruby that spoke again. “Anyway, I went to get breakfast this morning, to try and make up for having a go at you, and I… I bumped into Leroy. He asked if you’d picked up the books from the cannery yet, and I said—”

“It was _Leroy_?” Belle interjected, her surprise making her voice sound harsher than she intended.

“Yeah,” Ruby confessed. “He said he’s got contacts at the cannery that gave him Hunter’s number. Said he’d seen the names of the libraries on your notepad by the circulation desk, and… well…” Ruby shrugged.

“So Leroy arranged for Hunter to bring the books to Storybrooke?” she asked again, just to be sure she had it right.

“Yeah,” Ruby confirmed. “So… I was a bitch for no reason, and you deserve better friends, ones that trust you the way you deserve.”

“Oh, Ruby,” Belle said, finally stepping away from the front door to the apartment and letting the door close behind her, then crossed the room to hug her friend.

The days that followed were a march of opening boxes, cataloging books, and putting onto the shelves. Paige was a great help with that, at least when she wasn’t busy trying to embarrass Belle, to the point where, eventually, Belle made sure that _she_ was the one to open the boxes first, leaving Paige to shelve the books she had already processed into the library.

The fuel for Paige’s teasing - and she was quite precocious for her age - was that in every box there was something special, obviously for Belle: a poem in some, a trinket, or a hand drawn picture in others. There were so many she didn’t quite know what to do with them. In the end she put the pictures and the poems in a small folder, which, for the moment, she kept under the shelf on the circulation desk.

There were so many books to unpack, catalog and put into circulation, and Belle wanted to get it done quickly - lest the mayor should return and find her shelves still wanting - that for at least the next few evenings, she worked well past the library’s closing time, working until her eyelids began to droop, and there was little more she could do but wearily climb the stairs to her apartment, and all but fall into bed. A few times she walked in on Ruby with her latest fling making out on the couch, and she couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to Gus. Ruby had seemed so into him before, that Belle wouldn’t have thought that she would need to look elsewhere. Still, she had seen her with Gus, an unsavory looking, dark haired man whom she said she met at The Rabbit Hole, and even Doctor Whale.

When she asked Ruby about it one morning over breakfast, her friend shrugged, though she blushed slightly which Belle found somewhat reassuring, and said, “Just… keeping my options open.”

“I see,” said Belle, trying not to sound disapproving in any way, though she wasn’t sure she managed it. Then in a more teasing tone asked, “And am I likely to walk in on you with anyone today.

Ruby shook her head. “I don’t think so. I wasn’t planning on going anywhere today. Who knows, I might even come down and help you out in the library.”

“If you’re like,” Belle answered, with a smile, and as she passed Ruby, on her own way down to the library, she stole a piece of apple from her friend’s plate.

Belle enjoyed a busy day, with many patrons visiting the library, which kept her from doing much unpacking of new books. She didn’t mind, but it did mean that she was set up for a late night, alone in the empty library. She became so engrossed in unpacking the books that she didn’t hear the library door open behind her.

“The library hours posted on the door say ten pm, and by my estimate it is well past eleven thirty.” The voice from the doorway made her start almost violently, and knock over the stack of books beside her. She turned to see the dark shape standing in the doorway.

“Mister Gold,” she said, identifying the figure. “You startled me.”

“My apologies, Miss Marchland,” he said, “that wasn’t my intention. I merely noticed that the library lights were still switched on, and came across to make sure you were all right, and hadn’t… keeled over or anything.”

There was the barest hint of teasing in his otherwise serious tone, and Belle found herself chuckling.

“Touche,” she said softly, then as she began to stand, and gather the books that had spilled across the floor, she added, “Well, other than a near coronary from the surprise of someone suddenly speaking to me from where no one had been a moment before, I believe I’m well.”

He crossed the small space and leaned down to help collect some of the books, after a moment taking the short stack from Belle’s arms to add to his own, and placing them all on top of the desk.

“What can I do for you, Mister Gold?” Belle asked.

“Actually, Miss Marchland, I believe, rather more accurately, it’s what I can do for _you_ ,” he said, his voice like honey poured over tumbling rocks, and unbidden, Belle felt her belly, and lower still, clench tightly.


	28. Things Have A Way

“Oh?” Belle said, trying not to sound worried at the words he’d spoken.

Gold nodded. “I’ve been organizing inventory in the shop, and I found a box filled with book that I feel would be better housed in the library than on my bookshelves in the pawn shop. I’d… like you to have them.”

Belle blinked. “That’s very kind of you,” she said.

He smiled, and leaning closer, murmured, “Have a care, Miss Marchland, you’ll ruin my reputation.”

Belle swallowed, and blushed as he straightened up, and managed, “Well, I wouldn’t want to do that,” somewhat unconvincingly.

Gold chuckled, and raised an eyebrow, and Belle’s blush deepened as, though he said nothing, his expression hinted at wondering what she _would_ like to do.

“Would you like me to stop by and pick them up in the morning?” she asked after neither of them had spoken for an extended length of time.

“Forgive me,” he answered, shaking his head. “I would have brought it in from the car, but…” he gestured to his leg, and the cane he was _still_ leaning on somewhat heavily.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “Is there something I can do?”

He shook his head, “It’s nothing a little change in the weather won’t improve.” He told her, “But I appreciate your concern.”

For a moment she found herself frowning. It was the most natural thing in the world to feel concern for others, at least for her. From his words, she suspected that having others show concern for him was something that he was unused to. It made her sad for him. It made her _want_ to be the exception, even if his surly attitude and difficult nature _did_ drive her crazy.

She reached out before she could stop herself and pressed a touch to his arm, feeling the fine fabric of his suit against her fingertips, warmed by the heat of his body, the moment lingered between them as if time had slowed. Then he spoke again, and the bubble burst.

“Would you care to come and get it?” he asked.

She took a breath and offered a smile, “Of course. Thank you. Lead the way.”

Belle followed him out of the library. It wasn’t far, since he’d parked right outside, and he opened the door to allow her to reach into the car and pick up the box, before he retraced his steps to help her bring the box back into the library.

“If there’s anything you find unsuitable,” he told her, “please feel free to dispose of it as you see fit.”

She arched an eyebrow at that, “Dispose of books, Mister Gold?”

He chuckled and shook his head, “Have you not _ever_ , Miss Marchland.”

She shook her head, and said softly, “Never,” but then her face fell a little and her eyes filled with regret, and she added, “At least… not deliberately.”

“May I ask?” he queried, his face mirroring her concern of earlier.

“A book that I had as a child,” she said. “It was one I loved,” she sighed, “and somewhere along the way, probably one time we moved, I lost it.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, “Perhaps in your position as librarian here, you could try and track it down?”

“I’d like to,” she said with another sigh, “but I rather fear it’s out of print now.”

“That’s… truly, a shame,” he said. “If you’d care to furnish me with a title some time, I can approach my contacts.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to trouble you with such a thing, Mister Gold.”

“No trouble, Miss Marchland,” he assured her, and she blushed again.

“In that case,” she said, and turning to the desk, pulled out a blank index card, and wrote the title and author of the book onto the card, before handing it to him. He took it, read the contents of the card, and then slipped it into the inside pocket of his jacket, and she thought she saw the ghost of a smile on his face.

He nodded to her and glanced at the clock on the library wall, and said, “It’s getting late, and I shouldn’t keep you up.”

Belle shook her head. “Oh, I don’t mind the company, Mister Gold,” she said, but she sighed, and stretched out muscles that had grown cramped from too much bending. “But you’re probably right, and I should call it a day.”

“You wouldn’t want to become like me, after all,” he said with a nod. “Keeping odd hour, and awake at all kinds of time in the night.”

Belle chuckled, but made no comment on his appraisal of his situation. Instead she said, “Thank you… again, for the books.” She nodded toward the box and then added, “And for checking on me.”

“An honor,” he said, and then turned toward the library door. She walked at his side to the doorway so that she could lock up once he was gone, where he bid her a polite, “Good night, Miss Marchland, sleep well.”

Belle woke late the following morning from a dream she couldn’t quite remember, but with the lingering sensation of somewhat bashful arousal, couched within a feeling of longing, not strong, but strong enough to notice, and to make her blush as she lay there, trying to figure out what time it was.

The sounds from outside of her bedroom drifted through to her. Ruby had on the radio, and the jingle for the the Storybrooke news was just beginning.

Belle’s lazy, languid feeling evaporated in an instant. If the news were on that meant it was eight a.m., she should be up already and eating breakfast, ready to get downstairs to the library by nine. She threw back the covers, and hurried for the bathroom to begin getting ready for the day; showering and dressing, and making her bed in record time, before sharing a rushed breakfast with Ruby, who promised to bring her lunch later. Still she only just made it to unlock the library doors on time, and was still tidying away the evidence of last night’s late night working when the first of the patrons arrived, and there were a steady trickle of people that came in throughout the morning, keeping her very busy, and unable even to begin to contemplate opening the boxes until well into the afternoon.

Paige was late to arrive that afternoon, rushing in with a hurried apology, before setting her things down behind the counter, and getting to work right away on shelving the books that Belle had put on the cart. Belle thought she seemed a little more flustered than just being late would leave a girl of her age.

“Is there something wrong, Paige,” she asked softly, when Paige returned for another armful of books.

She wasn’t sure what response she expected… but setting the books down, and then flopping down into the office chair with a groan, one of intense irritation rather than any other she might have given, was not it.

“You can tell me,” Belle ventured, “I promise I’ll listen.”

Paige looked up at her, as if assessing whether she could trust her words, for a very long time before she said, “Miss Blanchard wants to see my ma.” She leaned over and pulled a letter out of her backpack. Belle saw that the letter had already been opened, and suspected it was Paige that had opened it.

She waved the letter until Belle took it, and then after a moment’s hesitation, feeling uncomfortable doing so, but under Paige’s unwavering stare, she took out the letter and quickly read the contents.

“Oh dear,” she said softly after a moment.

Paige nodded glumly. “She said that even though I’ve been doing better this last week or so…”

“…they might still have to hold you back,” Belle finished, sadly. “Paige, I don’t understand. You’re clever, a hard worker.”

Paige shrugged, and said softly, “I just… haven’t been doing well. Not getting the work done.”

“But why?” Belle pressed gently.

Before Paige could answer, the library doors fairly burst open and an older lady came all but running into the library, “Paige Grace, thank the gods! I’ve been looking for you all over. Where have you been!”

Instinctively, Belle stepped in front of Paige. She had never seen the woman before, and she didn’t like the way she was talking to the girl.

“I’m sorry,” Belle said coolly, “but, who are you, exactly?”

“She’s my neighbor,” Paige answered for the woman.

“Yes, your _elderly_ neighbor who shouldn’t have to go chasing you all up and down high street!” The woman said.

“Please,” Belle said, holding up a hand, still feeling defensive of Paige, “Let’s take a step back. Is there a problem? She came here from school. She does every Tuesday and Thursday. Her family knows this.”

As if Belle hadn’t spoken at all, the woman looked at Paige, and said, “You have to come home, my girl, now. Your mother needs your help.”

Paige sighed, but got up and grabbed her backpack. “I’m coming Missus Trude,” and to Belle added quietly, “I’ll come back if I can,” before she hurried out of the door, almost at a run.

The elderly neighbor was slower to leave, looking Belle up and down for a moment before muttering, “And what kind of woman are you, to keep a child from her parents when they need her?” leaving before Belle, spluttering in indignation, could speak a word in her own defense. It was only when she returned to the circulation desk that she realized Paige had left without her letter from the school.

“You shouldn’t let her bother you.”

The voice coming from between the stacks was familiar to Belle, although she couldn’t quite place it. She turned to see a tall man in black jeans, beneath an overcoat, that was open to reveal the dark colored waistcoat, and the scarf he wore tied loosely around his neck.

“I don’t think there’s anyone in town that really _likes_ the woman.”

Belle suddenly remembered where she’d seen the man before, and greeted him, “Jefferson.” 

“Belle,” he said, and came over to the circulation desk, setting down the books he had in his arms.

“I didn’t recognize you,” she gestured to his ‘ordinary’ clothes.

“A little more fabric and less leather,” he confirmed with a chuckle.

“Thank you,” she said, and he quirked an eyebrow, so she said, “For what you said. I couldn’t understand why she was on the attack. I thought I’d done something wrong?”

He shook his head, “Nah,” he said, and said a soft, “Please,” when Belle gestured at the books he’d set on the counter. “She’s like that with everyone. Bad tempered, bad mannered, just… bad all round.” He sighed, and then added, “Oh, and… the catalog said you have a book called _In the Memory of the Map_ by Christopher Norment, but… I can’t seem to find it on the shelf.” He gestured behind himself at the drawers full of index cards cataloging the books in the library. “Could you see if it has already been borrowed?”

“Of course,” Belle answered, and turned to the computer, quickly typing in the information Jefferson had given. “Do you enjoy cartography?” she asked as she worked.

“Bit of a hobby of mine,” he answered. “I’ve been working on mapping Storybrooke.”

Belle scribbled the call number on a piece of scrap paper, when she discovered that the book should have been on the shelf, and turned back to Jefferson with a smile. “I’d love to see it some time,” she said, “let me just go and check for this book. It should be there.”

Jefferson nodded, and almost draped himself decorously across the desk as she went, and she couldn’t help but smile to herself as she remembered his and Gold’s ‘playful banter’ on the evening of the mayor’s ball, unable to stop herself from believing that Gold had been right about Jefferson’s flamboyant nature.

He was correct about the book. It wasn’t where it was supposed to be, but sometimes books got moved around by patron’s or just generally shuffled a few numbers up or down by the removal and replacement of the books around them, so she looked in the general area, soon finding the book with a quiet, “What are _you_ doing there?” to the volume in question, and walking back with it to find Jefferson still waiting patiently.

“You found it,” he said happily as she brandished the book, before moving behind the circulation desk to finish checking out his books.

“They get shuffled around,” she told him, handing him back all the books. “It happens sometimes. It was good to see you.”

“You too, Belle,” he said with a smile, tucking the books under his arm. “And don’t let Mother Trude get to you, and if she does come back… you just come to me.” With that, he tipped an imaginary hat to her, and left the library.

It was just after seven in the evening when the library door opened quietly, and Paige’s head poked around it anxiously. Belle, who was writing out the last of a handful of index cards, looked up, smiled and beckoned her inside.

“I can’t stay long,” Paige said, coming to sit cross legged beside Belle, “but I wanted to at least help you a little bit, with the unpacking, I mean, and I’m sorry about my neighbor.”

Belle reached over to squeeze her hand. “It’s all right, Paige,” she said. “You know… if there’s some kind of trouble you’re in, or… anything you need me to help with…” 

Paige shook her head, but she was holding very tightly to Belle’s hand. “It’ll be all right,” she said. “I’ll just have to make sure to get all of my work done from now until the end of the year. Then maybe Miss Blanchard will see that I can do it, really.”

“Would you…” Belle began, worrying that she was overstepping the mark, just a little bit, but wanting to offer anyway. It seemed that something was going on, even if Paige was trying very hard not to say. “…would you like me to speak to someone for you. I could make a call to child services… if you need help.”

“No,” said Paige, very sharply, then more quietly added, “Thank you for offering, but I’m fine. Please don’t call.”

Belle frowned softly, but nodded, “All right,” she answered, thinking that she could always hold off for now, but if things seemed to get worse, she could always call later. “But I _insist_ you let me help you with your work, all of it, not just the hard parts.”

Paige smiled then, and leaned over to hug Belle for a moment. “You’d do that?” she asked.

“Of course,” she said. “Every day if you need. I _know_ you can do it, and I want you to succeed.”

She patted Paige a little awkwardly on the back, and then as Paige pulled away to sit once again beside her, she gestured toward the last remaining box. The one that Mister Gold had given to her the night before.

“Pull that over here, and let’s have a look at what’s inside.”

Paige leaned over and slid the box toward them, pulling off the lid that was held on by duct tape, and peering into the box. Belle too, leaned over to see what was inside, taking out a few books from the top, and setting them into her lap to look at them. They were old. First editions, and in remarkable condition: The Painted Veil, by Somerset Maugham, Gentleman’s Agreement, by Laura Z Hobson, and even The Wonderful Wizard of OZ, by L Frank Baum. She wasn’t sure she could actually _put_ those in the library, as valuable as they were, but she certainly wouldn’t dispose of them.

She looked again, to see Paige’s hand closing around a too familiar greenish cover with gold lettering and gold leaf at the corners.

“Oh!” she said aloud, and her hand flew to her mouth.

Paige almost dropped the book at her gasp, but instead, she shifted her grasp to lift the book carefully from the box, reading the title as she did so. “Her Handsome Hero.”

She offered the book to Belle, who took it reverently, lovingly, running her fingers over the lettering and patterned surround as though it were familiar to her.

“I had a copy of this book when I was little,” Belle whispered, “I love this book, and I lost it.”

She opened the book and slowly began leafing through the pages.

Paige smiled. “Things have a way of finding where they’re supposed to be, and getting there,” she said, with almost too much wisdom for her age.

“I wonder how this copy ended up in Mister Gold’s shop,” Belle breathed, and then looked up at Paige when the girl giggled.

“Leroy says _everything_ ends up in Mister Gold’s shop,” she said, looking over at Belle, who had clasped the book to her as though she were afraid it would grow legs and run away. And then she gasped, and Belle turned to follow the direction of Paige’s gaze, seeing that the girl was looking at the clock over her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I have to go,” she said. “Will you… will you maybe read it to me sometime?”

Belle smiled and got to her feet as Paige did.

“Yes, I’d like that very much,” she said. “Perhaps we could read a little together after you finish your homework on the days that you come. Speaking of which…” she said, “When you ran out earlier, you left your letter from the school. Let me get it for you.”

Belle went around behind the circulation desk to collect the letter and return it to Paige, but when she looked, the letter and the envelope it had been in were no-where to be seen.

“That’s odd,” she said, frowning, and moving a few things back and forth along the top of the desk. “I could have sworn I saw it here earlier.”

Paige shook her head. “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “Mother wouldn’t read it, anyway, or if she did it would only make her feel bad.” Belle frowned at that, but said nothing as Paige said, “So it’s probably better that it got lost. Like I told you, things around here have a way of finding where they’re supposed to be.”


	29. The Loneliness Of Routine

Belle contemplated Paige’s words for several days, while reading her childhood’s favorite novel over again between patrons in the library. Life, for now, seemed to have settled into a routine and it was comforting, and gave her a sense of belonging. The loneliness persisted though, perhaps made more real, or more noticeable by Ruby’s, seemingly, very active love life, and after several days of feeling that way, she took a long lunch break, made her way out of Storybrooke, and to the tree. The note she left for Hunter there was a simple greeting, but she was happy to see that the book she had left for him was gone, and thus began the relationship she and Hunter built. He would leave a note, and she would reply, or the other way around. 

Sometimes the notes were long and romantic, notions of what might be… if they would allow it. At other times the notes were short, a simple greeting or response to her greetings, and yet again sometimes there would be little hand made gifts left on the tree for her to find.

Spring blossomed, bloomed and passed into the beginnings of the approaching summer.

“It’s not real, you know?”

Belle blinked as Ruby spoke one morning over breakfast, as she straightened out the crumpled note, the latest that had been tacked to the tree. She looked up to see Ruby gesturing at the paper under her hand.

“All of this… thing with Hunter,” Ruby went on. “You’re pining and mooning around after something and someone that isn’t at all real.”

“Of course he’s real,” Belle answered. “You’ve seen him. You traveled with him from Boston.”

“Not my point,” Ruby snapped, “and you know that. All these notes, and declarations of what…? Love? Get real, Belle. When have you ever done anything other than leave sappy little notes to each other. If he were at all interested, truly interested, wouldn’t he have _come_ here before now? Come to find you?” Belle opened her mouth to respond, but Ruby wasn’t finished. “And what do you know about him anyway, truly _know_. For all you know he could be using you, setting you up… grooming you to be what… just another port in a storm?”

“Ruby!” Belle protested, finding herself breathless with her friend’s vitriol. “It isn’t like that.”

“You don’t _know_ that, Belle,” Ruby reached across the table and gripped her wrist so tightly that it hurt. “You don’t know anything about him.”

“I know he’s kind. I know he helped out when he didn’t have to,” she snapped.

“Look, Belle,” Ruby said, her tone softening. “I’m not trying to be mean, I’m not, honestly. I just… I worry about you, okay? I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“Hunter _isn’t_ going to hurt me,” she said. “And anyway, who are you to talk? You _know_ Gus really likes you, and are you even giving him the time of day?”

“You’ve been so busy walking around with your head up your ass over Hunter, that you don’t even remember I told you he’s coming over… today.”

“Oh, so what is this exactly,” Belle didn’t mean to be so petulant, but her temper was riled and she was feeling defensive, not because she thought Ruby was wrong, but because she feared that she might be right. “You’ve moved in here or something?”

“Ouch,” Ruby said, and the both of them fell silent, aside from the sighs they each made, one after the other.

Belle hated fighting, with anyone, but most of all with Ruby. In the end she was the first to say quietly, “I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” Ruby said, getting up to come around and hug Belle gently from behind. “It’s only because I worry about you. You know that right?”

Belle nodded. “Yes, and I shouldn’t have snapped.”

Ruby shrugged and let go, perching on the edge of the table. “So what does the latest note say, love bird?”

Belle blushed and chuckled just a little bit, before she pushed the note toward Ruby. She watched as Ruby picked up the note and read it. It said, “Saturday… Meet me at our ‘spot.’ no return pickup.”

Ruby handed the note back with a raised eyebrow. “What are you going to do?” she asked, “Make out in the woods and end up covered in mud and leaves?”

Belle spluttered in an attempt to get the words out. “Of _course_ not!” she said. Then she sighed, “Ruby, I moved here to start a new life… I’ve been putting everything on hold until now. It’s time that I embraced what I set out to do. I’m finally feeling at home, the library is working really well but…” she sighed, “I’m lonely.”

“You have me,” Ruby said.

“Not the same.” Belle answered, though she reached over to squeeze her friend’s hand. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Ruby said, “But I promise you, if I swung that way, you’d be the first on my list.”

“Gee, thanks,” Belle said dryly, making Ruby laugh.

“It’s just…” Belle began, faltering slightly before she went on, “It’s just time that I embraced this new life I’ve made for myself, and if that includes exploring this thing I have going on with Hunter, however unconventional it might be, then… that’s what I need to do. What I _want_ to do.”

“Okay, just…” Ruby sighed, “…be careful, all right? I don’t want to have to pick up the pieces.”

“You won’t,” she said. “I’ll be careful. I promise.”

Ruby nodded. “So…” she said hesitantly, “You… really mind if I have Gus over tonight?”

Belle shook her head. “No, not really. I’m just jealous, I guess.”

Ruby reached over and squeezed her shoulder. “Don’t be, Belle. You’re beautiful, you deserve the best, you know that.”

“Well, that’s as may be, but… anyway, I’ll stay down in the library and give you two some privacy. There’s plenty to do down there,” she said, though it wasn’t necessarily the truth, but if she had to, if she ran out of things to do, she could always take a walk, visit Granny’s for a treat or something, there was plenty she could do… She could even walk out to the tree, and leave Hunter an answer to his invitation.

“You sure,” Ruby said, and she could hear the doubt in her friend’s voice.

“Yes,” Belle said softly. “I’m sure.”

In the end, that evening, Belle opted for Granny’s, ordering an iced tea and a slice of pie, and went to sit in the booth furthest from the door, furthest from everything so that she could sit and watch everyone over the top of the book that she had brought with her and wasn’t reading, and which quickly turned into a daydream of sorts.

She had told Ruby that she felt at home in Storybrooke, and it was true, she did, but she didn’t feel like she really fit in. The only real friend she had in the town was Ruby, and she wasn’t from there. Sure Leroy had been kind to her, and stuck by her, almost like a protective older brother.

Then there was Gold, her landlord, with whom she shared, at best, an antagonistic relationship. He’d never actually done her wrong - though she had learned by listening to gossip that there were many people who couldn’t say the same - and she had good reason to believe that actually he was also sort of looking out for her, at least in a quiet sort of way that was probably more a power struggle between him and the mayor in which she was the pawn. At least that’s what she liked to tell herself, but then there was the book.

She hadn’t told Ruby exactly where it had come from, and she hadn’t _not_ told her either. She simply let her assume that it had been from one of the other libraries and not corrected her when Ruby enthused over it, remembering that it had been Belle’s childhood favorite… and she hadn’t stopped wondering where it truly _had_ come from, and why he hadn’t told her that it was in the box, when she had given him the title of the book.

_He took the index card, read the contents of the card, and then slipped it into the inside pocket of his jacket, and Belle thought she saw the ghost of a smile on his face._

What did it mean? What did _any_ of it mean.

“I’ll give ye a penny for em, but no more.”

Maggie had suddenly appeared beside her, and Belle gave herself a little shake wondering how she could have gotten so lost in her thoughts that she hadn’t even notice when Maggie came in. She gave the other woman a smile, and Maggie evidently took it as an invitation to join her and slipped into her booth.

“So?” Maggie asked.

Belle shook her head. “Oh, I was just thinking,” she said.

“Aye. That much is evident, but I asked what about?” Maggie said.

“Life.” Belle sighed, “How… if I really _do_ fit in here.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Maggie exclaimed rather too loudly for Belle’s taste. “Ye fit in just fine.”

Belle gave her a smile. “Thank you for that, but I’m not sure I believe you.”

“Och, ye’ve just things on your mind that’s stopping you from going out and embracing your part in the tapestry that _is_ this town.”

“What do you mean?” Belle asked with a frown.

“Well, ye seem to have quite the influential suitor,” Maggie chuckled and added, “Though I never thought I’d ever see the day.”

Belle shook her head again. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

Maggie sighed, and said, “Oh, I’d have hoped you’d realize by now, but since ye havenae, it’d be bad luck for me to say any more, but… well, ye just wait. Summer’s coming.”

“Summer?”

“Aye, you’ll see.” Maggie said softly.


	30. Midnight Meetings

Belle couldn’t decide whether she was excited or nervous as Saturday evening turned into night and she prepared to make her way to the tree for her ‘date’ with Hunter. She felt as though she had a million thoughts flowing through her mind at once. She had closed up the library early so that she could change her clothes and refresh her make up, and tried hard not to let Ruby’s obvious worry add to her own disquiet.

In spite of the hour, she decided to walk to The Bend - as she’d taken to calling it - rather than take the van. It was a pleasant enough evening after all, and the walk would help to clear her mind, to allow herself to feel a little more confident in what she was about to do. Had she not promised herself she would embrace her new life in Storybrooke with no reservations? That included the growing relationship she had with Hunter. She had told Ruby as much before she left. In spite of the walk, she arrived early, which undid whatever calm she had managed to instill in herself.

What if Ruby was right, and this wasn’t as real for him as she felt it was for her? What did she really know about him, his background, his life other than what he did for work? What if he were just leading her on, using her until he grew bored and—? She forced herself to stop. What if she were worrying unnecessarily and her own feelings and impression of Hunter were right? She couldn’t keep second guessing herself.

She waited quietly, leaning on the tree - _their_ tree - just listening to the sounds of the night; the babbling of the water in the creek nearby, and the quiet and melodic ‘peep’ of the frogs serenading the night, a counterpoint to the deeper, rasp of the toads… the susurration of the leaves overhead as they answered the night winds call to dance. It wasn’t silence, but it was a natural kind of quiet that was soothing, peaceful; part of what she loved about her new home.

It began as a low rumble, something felt rather than heard, a sound that tingled through her belly as the vibrations became a true sound; a deep throaty growl as though a great hound were on the prowl, and out for blood. She pushed that thought away as the darkness was pierced by oncoming lights, and then Hunter’s truck came into view.

The engine sounds slowed, as he pulled the truck in as close to the side of the road as its bulk would allow, parking half on the road, and and part way across the dirt track that led into the forest, and then true silence. No frogs, no toads… even the trees fell silent as though the whole world were holding its breath.

As was Belle, she realized, as she waited for Hunter to get down from the cab, trying and failing to banish all of her previous doubts that came rushing back upon her. She let out the breath slowly, and as though she had been the force holding the breeze at bay, the whispering of the leaves began again, soft, tremulous, as was she.

The cab door opened and Hunter stepped down. He gave her a bright smile and reached out to brush his fingertips down her cheek in greeting. She felt the color rush to her face and was glad of the darkness around them, so that he wouldn’t see her blush.

“You are here. You are early,” he told her softly.

“Well,” she said a little coyly, “I was invited after all, and what’s a girl to do?”

She tucked her lip between her teeth, worrying that her flirtatious answer was too much, worrying what would happen now, and her mind reminded her of the sleeping space in the rear of the cab… it was small, it would be cramped.

“I…” Hunter began. “I brought a picnic.”

She blushed anew, berating herself for the direction her thoughts had been heading, and then offered him a smile.

“That sounds lovely,” she said, “And I think I know just the place.”

“Perfect,” he said, and with a smile disappeared back into the cab for a moment. Belle blew out a breath. _Get a grip_ , she told herself, alarmed by the sudden increase in the fluttering in her belly.

As Hunter climbed back down from the cab, she reached out and plucked the blanket from under his arm, where he held it, more to _do_ something than that he actually needed her to take it from him. He closed the cab door, flicking on a flashlight he had balancing on top of the basket, and then handed it to her.

“Lead the way,” he said.

She took the flashlight, and heading around the truck, walked a short way along the dirt track toward where she knew there was a clearing, the one she had found filled with growing wild flowers. It seemed a lifetime ago. 

As she spread the blanket on the ground, to the side of the clearing, she glanced at Hunter, taking him in as he set the basket down and began to unpack the contents of their late night picnic. He was handsome, she couldn’t deny that, his dark hair framed his face just so; his tall, muscular frame, and the confidence with which he conducted himself… it was all very enticing. Still, in the back of her mind, she couldn’t help but also see a sharp side to the man, his confidence drew closer to arrogance, his handsome face, at rest, rarely smiled, and his eyes held a cruel edge. The words Ruby said to her, just before she left ran through her mind, unbidden.

“ _What if he’s not who you think he is?_ ”

“Shall we?” Hunter gestured to where he had now finished setting out the food, with enough space for her to sit comfortably one side of the blanket and he the other.

“Hunter,” she said softly, “It’s beautiful.”

“Not so much as you,” he responded at once, drawing another blush to Belle’s cheeks. He picked up a tiny cracker that held a swirl of cheese, and a sliver of ham, and offered it to her. The crisp scents mingled as she breathed in, the smoky tang of the ham, the not-quite-sour smell of the cheese… it made her mouth water; a need mirrored lower in her body. Hesitantly, delicately, she picked the offered morsel out of his fingers, which barely brushed her lips.

He breathed her name, and she saw him swallow hard, before he reached over to pick up the small bottle of wine he had in a cooler in the basket, and poured some into her glass, filling his own with water. Then he offered her a toast. “To midnight meetings,” he said.

“To many more, in many places,” she said, and sipped her wine, feeling the buzz of it hit her almost as soon as the sharpness crested like a wave over her palate.

He set down his glass, and took hers from her hand to set it down, catching her arms to draw her closer as his hands trailed down over her wrists to entwine their fingers, his grasp firm… insistent. “My Belle,” he breathed.

She closed her eyes, feeling lost in the moment as he eased her closer, released her hands and wrapped her in his arms. His mouth pressed against hers, hard and wet as his tongue swept her lips, until she opened to him, her lips parting, and he swept his tongue inside. He kissed her like a man drowning, and she the air, and she became breathless as his weight began to press her backwards toward the blanket, and his hand began to explore her body as he did.

Her eyes fluttered. Then, suddenly, there was light, bright and piercing. It made her eyes water. Sounds followed… engine sounds, and then the sound of a car horn, blaring into the quiet of the night… not once, but twice, then a third time, and she pushed at Hunter, pushing him off of her as he continued to ignore the sound.

She got to her feet, quickly smoothing her clothing, fastening the button of her shirt that had, somehow, become unfastened, and hurried out of the clearing, and into the beam of the bright light, lifting an arm to shield her eyes from the light, seeing little.

Then she heard the clunk of a car door, and the three legged gait as the car’s occupant approached. She stepped out of the headlights and found herself face to face with her landlord.

“Mister Gold, what are you doing here?” she began, and then she noticed the urgent look in his eyes, and that his hands were covered in blood.


	31. Questionable Choices

“Oh, my gods! What happened?” Belle rushed forwards to grasp Gold’s wrists in her hands and pull them toward her, at the same time looking into the car besides which Mister Gold still stood. Gold pulled his arms from her grasp and nodded his head toward the car.

“Someone’s dog got at one of the lambs,” he snapped, “I have to get him to the nearest emergency vet, and _once_ again, I find the road blocked and _you_ are at the heart of it.”

From the edge of the clearing, Hunter’s voice sounded, harsh and cold, in complete contrast to the tone’s he’d used before, when he had been speaking with Belle.

“There’s no need for that kind of attitude, Mister Gold,” Belle watched surprise briefly flash through Gold’s eyes, before Hunter went on, “Yes, Sir, I know who you are.”

“And am I supposed to be concerned?” Gold tossed back, then looked at Belle, and asked, incredulously, “And what exactly are you two _doing_ out here in the dead of night anyway?”

“What I choose to do with my evenings, Mister Gold, are none of your business.” Belle said.

“Evening?” Gold raised and incredulous eyebrow. “You _do_ know the hour is well past midnight, don’t you, Miss Marchland?”

“I’m well aware of the time,” Belle snapped, “And you’re my landlord, not my father, so the fact that I’m out at this time should be neither here nor there to you, Gold.”

For the first time she could remember she dropped all forms of politeness when speaking with him, even his title, and she crossed her arms over her chest defensively. It wasn’t necessarily that they’d been caught, ‘necking’ in the woods, as Ruby might have said, but the fact that Ruby might well have scolded her just as Gold was. What the _hell_ was she doing?

Gold looked over at Hunter, and with his lip curled into a snarl, that was matched by his tone said, “Will you move your truck, or must I call the Sheriff to report your indecent attempts to defile our town librarian?”

Belle had no idea where the audacity came from, either for his accusation or the resulting slap she gave so hard to the side of Gold’s face that it left her hand stinging from it. He didn’t move, though he did rock back on his heels, and his face hardened, his lips pursing into a flat line. 

“How _dare_ you?” she spluttered, her face flushing scarlet.

“Miss Marchland,” he said, his voice deadly calm. “What do you actually _know_ about this… man?” he said the final word full of mocking sarcasm. “Where he goes… what he does, traveling the country like some kind of privateer?”

“Well, I…” she started, subdued for a moment before she realized that she was letting herself get dictated to again, and snapped, “More than _you_ and that’s for sure!”

Gold regarded her steadily for a moment before he looked over her shoulder at Hunter, who had stepped closer when her little altercation with Gold began.

“Do you think?” he said, his voice a steady, controlled mask against his feelings.

She frowned and turned sideways to both men and saw that each of them had their eyes locked on the other, and their expressions were the personification of thunder and hatred.

It was Hunter that moved first. He took a step forward, and slightly closer to her, enough that she could feel the heat from his body across the narrow gap between them, but Gold that spoke before _he_ did , eyes still locked with Hunter’s as he said, “Move. Your damned. Truck.”

For a moment, Belle thought Hunter was going to refuse, but surely not. Under the circumstances, no matter how rude and horrible Gold was being, it wasn’t the lamb’s fault and she couldn’t believe that Hunter would be so cruel as to continue to let an innocent creature suffer. She jumped when she felt his fingers close around her arm.

“Come with me, Belle,” he said, and she frowned. The words sounded more like a command than an invitation, and that, along with her own thoughts, made her feel like she wanted to cry.

_What the hell are you thinking coming out into the woods at midnight with a man you hardly know and don’t even have a_ real _relationship with!_

“I… I can’t,” she said after a moment and pulled her arm out of his grasp.

“But I have to g—” he said, and she felt as though she had curled in on herself. She knew his time was limited and that even without a pick up from the cannery, he still had deliveries that he had to make.

“I know,” she said, cutting him off. “And I’m sorry, but I—”

“The truck.” Gold interrupted coldly - furious.

Without a word, Hunter turned on his heel, and stalked back toward where the truck was parked across the track’s entry, snatching the picnic basket along the way. With a last look at the anger on Gold’s face, Belle followed. The least she could do was see him safely away, but he climbed up into the truck without a word and Belle felt terribly guilty for not agreeing to go with him.

Before he could close the door, she jumped up onto the step and leaned into the open cab, reaching for him with one hand, and grasping the front of his shirt. She pulled him closer until he was close enough to take his mouth in a kiss. He tasted of cheese and salmon, and a tangy fruity taste she could not identify. For a moment he seemed surprised, and then he slid his hands either side of her face and kissed her back, just as deeply.

She was breathless when the kiss ended and she was a little more hopeful that she hadn’t completely spoiled what they had been growing between them. She hopped down backwards, staggering a little when it seemed a little further down to the ground than she thought it was going be and stepped back as Hunter pulled the door closed. Then she heard the discordant roar of the engine drowning out the natural sounds, and it seemed somehow wrong in the quiet of Storybrooke, and the lights, when he turned them on, seemed suddenly too bright.

She stood back and folded her arms across her chest as she watched the truck slowly begin to pull away as though the effort of moving was almost too much. For a second it seemed like a metaphor of some kind, but she pushed thought away.

The roar of the truck’s engine was replaced by the purr of Gold’s car as it came from behind her, on the path that led into the trees. She bit her lip, feeling suddenly ashamed of the way she had behaved. She didn’t remember ever slapping anyone the way she had Gold and she expected him to simply drive on past and leave her at the side of the road. Instead, though he was already driving slowly, he brought his car to a stop beside her and wound down the window. In a completely contrary fashion, his thoughtfulness made her angry, resentful.

“Miss Marchland,” he said quietly but clipped, “I can’t leave you here by yourself in the dark; in the dead of night.”

“I’m fine,” she snapped. “I can look after myself - thank you very much.”

“I didn’t say otherwise,” he said, though his attempt to mollify her pride was somewhat negated by the words that came from him next, “However, since your ideas of ‘looking after yourself’ include climbing rotten trees, and meeting strangers for midnight picnics in perhaps one of the darkest spots in Storybrooke, you’ll excuse me, I hope, if I find myself unable to trust your judgment.”

“You arrogant—”

“Yes, yes, that’s already been established, so please, get into the car and allow me to run you home,” he interrupted. “This animal needs a vet and I’d rather get him there sooner than later.”

She huffed, and didn’t want to, so was somewhat disappointed with herself when she walked around the car, opened the door and got into the passenger side.

“Will he be all right, do you think?” she asked, glancing into the back where Gold had wrapped the lamb in a blanket of some kind and attempted to contain the animal in a box.

“I hope so,” he answered. “Time will tell.”

He drove swiftly back to Storybrooke, and neither of them spoke another word on the journey, not even anything more of antagonism between the two of them, and when he dropped her off outside of the library, he did not bid her goodnight, and she returned the courtesy just as he had given it.

Instead she stormed to the outside door leading into the apartment, anger knotted in her belly only she didn’t know at whom she was most angry: Hunter for implying a threat to Gold, Gold for his outright nastiness, or herself… for yet again making stupid choices.


	32. Afternoon Tea

Belle _hated_ those overly familiar memes that said cheery things like, “Every day is a new day!” or, “You can’t move forward without letting go the chains of the past.” She thought them so sickly sweet that they would rot your teeth beyond the aid of _any_ dentist. She hated that she didn’t feel like eating breakfast. She hated the way she couldn’t get her hair to curl just right, in fact, when she woke the next morning she hated _everything_.

She had stayed awake for too long trying to listen for the sounds of Gold’s car, only to realize that he probably wouldn’t have come back to the shop anyway. He’d probably have gone to his home - which she had no idea where it was, or maybe even to his cabin, since is was the closest to where he kept the sheep. Only then had she stopped fighting the urge to go to sleep and forget about the rotten ending to what had been a difficult day.

It hadn’t helped. She had gone to bed angry, and had woken the same way.

Ruby must have sensed her mood even before she came out of her bedroom, because the other woman was nowhere to be seen, so she ate alone, and then gathered her things to head down to the library and open up, slamming the door on the book drop box with no small amount of satisfaction as she emptied it, and then all but dropping the pile of books down onto the desk beside the computer.

When she picked up the first one to check it in, she found herself suddenly chuckling, and then laughing outright as she read the title.

_Best Served Cold._ The book was by Joe Abercrombie.

She might have counted on books, and the library itself to lift her mood, and after she checked in all the books, she went to the front doors, opened them up, and breathed in the air and the ambiance of Storybrooke. She smiled as she saw Leroy and his friends all walking in a single line, heading for Granny’s no doubt to have their breakfast. The sight of Leroy reminded her of why she was there, and how at home everyone in in town made her feel.

Even the difficult Mister Gold.

The thought brought her up short, and she frowned at herself, just a little. Perhaps she owed him an apology. Yes, he’d been an utter beast about things the night before, but he had only been looking out for her, and at the same time no doubt worried about his lamb, and while not an excuse for his behavior, it was a reason, and of one thing she was certain: she had had _no_ right to take her disappointment and self doubt out on him in the way that he had, and the thought made her palm tingle. She should not have slapped him. She stepped further out into the roadway to try and see if he had opened up the shop yet that morning, but she couldn’t see. She would have to go a little further down the street to truly tell.

With a sigh, she turned and almost ran right into Paige’s neighbor. What was it that Jefferson had called her? Mother Trude?

“Well, isn’t it a shame that folk like you don’t look where they’re going,” the old woman snapped, “or mind their own business, when it comes down to it?”

“I’m sorry?” Belle said, having yet again to reign in her irritation, and delivering the words more as an accusatory question than an actual apology.

“Well, I should think so,” Mother Trude responded.

“Can I help you?” she asked, looking expectantly at the older woman who seemed to be in a perpetual temper, and it occurred to her then that it must be what _she_ looked like that morning, and resolved to change her attitude completely. She would go for morning tea at Granny’s, and then she would walk along the road to Mister Gold’s shop and venture in for the first time to make her apologies.

“I just came to tell you that young Paige won’t be coming in today, nor on Tuesday. She has a thing for school, and she’s far too busy besides.” The old woman sniffed. “And I should think so as well. When her mother needs her she’s never around, always here.”

“Mrs. Trude—” Belle began.

“Miss,” the other woman corrected her with yet another sniff.

“I beg your pardon,” Belle said, and this time it _was_ an apology, drawing a third sniff from the woman. “Is she all right? Paige I mean?”

“She just has to work hard to get on for school,” Trude said with a decisive nod.

“And… she couldn’t come and tell me herself?” She had to admit that she was more than a little disappointed at that.

“Well, it’s not for me to say, is it?” the woman began, “What a little girl might or might not be able to do?” With a shake of her head, the woman straightened herself and Belle could tell that she was preparing to move on. “I came to tell you, and now I have, so… that’s all.”

The words, “Tell her I’m thinking of her,” died on Belle’s lips as she watched her walk away, her heart filling with worry for Paige and, not for the first time, did she feel as though she should talk to someone about her concerns, if not in fact call Child Services.

It was with a lot on her mind that she later tied a note to the library doors, and made her way across the street to go and take her tea at Granny’s as she had planned. Unsurprisingly, for a Saturday afternoon, it was busy in Granny’s, but the one person she had secretly been hoping to see there, was nowhere to be found. It wouldn’t of course, be like fate to make things easy for her after all, and so after her tea, she made her way along the street to Mister Gold’s pawnshop.

The bell above the door tinkled almost playfully, although she couldn’t see any sign of Mister Gold. She marveled at the vast array of items both on prominent display, and, as she began to wander around the shop, let her eyes feast on the treasure trove of wonders and mysteries in hidden corners and tucked away at the back of shelves, and niches in display case.

She was just bending down to admire the etchings on a silver tea tray when Mister Gold voice startled her.

“Miss Marchland,” he said. “What a pleasant surprise.” Then he frowned softly as she stood up and turned to face him.

He was immaculately dressed as always, in a black suit with deep almost-black pinstripes barely visible along its fitted form. His shirt was black and his necktie a deep, dark maroon. He looked every bit as mysterious as the items in his shop, and every bit as dangerous as the sword that hung on display on the wall behind him.

“Is there something wrong?” he asked mildly. “With the apartment, I mean?”

“What?” she asked, momentarily confused, then coming to herself and dragging her eyes away from him said, “Oh. No, no.” She tendered a hesitant smile. “I um… I just came because I wanted to see you.” He raised an eyebrow at that. “To… offer an apology.”

“For?” he asked, and seemed to be genuinely baffled that she would do such a thing.

“The way I behaved last night.”

He shook his head, and pursed his lips before speaking, “As you rightfully said, I’m neither your father nor have I any business prying into—”

“No.” She cut him off, and shook her head, “I meant… well, that I slapped you. I shouldn’t have done that, and I apologize.”

He gave her a wry and slightly lopsided smile, and said, softly, “No need. It’s already forgotten.”

“Oh, but—”

He cut her off in his own turn. “Besides,” he offered, “In retrospect I rather think I deserved it. Don’t you?”

She made a noise to express her doubt, and then said, “If we’re viewing last night in retrospect, Mister Gold, then no. I rather think you don’t. I think you might have been trying to look out for me.” Then added even more quickly in case he should suddenly say something to disabuse her of the thought, “And that you were worried about the lamb.”

“Neither of which,” he argued softly, “should excuse my ungallant behavior.”

She found that she blushed, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“May I ask?” she asked, and he gestured at her to go on. “How _is_ the poor little thing.”

He smiled. “Patched up, and bleating for his mother’s milk,” he said, then asked, “May I offer you some tea? I was just about to have some myself.”

“Thank you, that would be very kind,” she said, in spite of the fact that she had just taken tea at Granny’s, and watched as he walked back to where the curtain separated the retail space of his shop and his back room, and holding aside the curtain, gestured for her to enter.

She walked past him, and he followed, letting the curtain fall closed behind them as he crossed to add an extra scoop of leaf tea to the pot that was standing on the bench beside the kettle. Her eyes went wider yet as she looked over the myriad things that she could see stacked haphazardly against the walls, and covering the shelves and other storage spaces.

She also didn’t miss the bed that was present and was made up with an antique bedspread in beautiful colors that lay over it. She wondered whether this accounted for the many late nights she saw the light still on in the shop.

“Milk and sugar?” he asked.

“Just milk,” she said, and then added, “Thank you.”

He offered her a seat at the table and set down a china cup in front of her filled with steaming tea, and to her surprise, he also set a plate of cookies, that looked home baked, in the center of the table.

“Help yourself,” he said as he joined her at the table, and picked up a cookie, which he nibbled on, apparently thoughtful.

“May I ask?” she asked again after taking a sip of tea. It was strong, and rich - the perfect cup of tea, but somehow this _didn’t_ surprise her.

“Do you begin all your questions that way?” he teased.

She let out a small trill of laughter, and then shook her head. “I simply don’t want to impose,” she told him.

“I’m certain you could never be an imposition, Miss Marchland,” he assured her, drawing another blush to her cheeks. “But ask your question. What is it that you want to know?”

“I have a… young girl that comes to help out in the library three times a week,” she began. “She didn’t come today, and her neighbor told me should wouldn’t come on Tuesday either. Something to do with school.”

“If it’s a school matter, you would do better to speak with Miss Blanchard,” he said, sitting back to take a sip of his tea. “She teaches school.”

“Yes, I know,” she said, “But this seems to be more than that. The neighbor said something about her mother needing her… to help out or,” she shrugged. “It seemed worrisome to me, and this isn’t the first time I’ve sensed something wrong. I was thinking of calling to speak with Child Services.”

Gold frowned and asked, “That bad?”

“That’s just it. I don’t know, and I still don’t know the people around here very well.” She sighed and lost herself in her tea for a while, worrying about Paige.

“What is it about her that troubles you?” he prompted. “If I may I ask.”

“She seems so… nervous sometimes, and lost. She sometimes seems a little lost, that’s it,” she said, as though working things out for herself.

“And does this child have a name?” Gold asked, nudging the plate of cookies her way until she took one and took a bite.

The cookie melted in her mouth, the rich butter-shortbread taste bathing her tongue, and she visibly melted with the pleasure of it. He chuckled.

“A family recipe,” he said. “I like to make them from time to time.”

“They’re very good, Mister Gold,” she said as she swallowed a second mouthful of the delicious confection. “Really very, very good.”

“Thank you.” He accepted her compliment with a nod of his head. Then, with a smile sipped his own tea and asked, “So, this child. You were about to tell me her name.”

“Oh, yes,” she said, “Her name is Paige. Paige Grace. Do you know anything about her?”

The smile fell from Mister Gold’s face, to be replaced by a frown that seemed more than simple concern. “That is worrying indeed,” he said darkly, and something about the change in his demeanor sent shivers over her. She looked at him, her own querying look extending to include her worry and her suddenly increased fear for the girl. At her expression, Gold’s face relaxed a little as though the a cloud had simply passed over his face, and he was now, once more tranquil and simply a concerned town councilman, and not the avenging angel - or demon - he had suddenly resembled.

“She is a very sweet young girl,” he said with a sympathetic smile. “I know her family quite well.”

He seemed to have held the f sound for a beat too long, and it made Belle think that he had been intending to say a different word altogether.

“Perhaps I _should_ speak to Miss Blanchard, after all,” she said.


	33. Heart To Heart

As she left Gold’s shop, resolved to find Miss Blanchard and speak with her about Paige, Belle realized that she hadn’t yet eaten more than just a cookie or two since breakfast. The realization came with the loud and almost painful rumbling in her stomach, and since she couldn’t see an angry mob outside of the library she saw no harm in taking a few minutes to grab a quick bite to eat at Granny’s. Besides, it would give her time to try and formulate how she might approach the school teacher without it seeming as though she were prying.

The early evening was pleasantly warm, so she decided to sit at a table on the terrace rather than go inside. She thought she’d find it easier to think out in the fresh air, than inside among the hubbub of the diner, which was usually busy on a Saturday evening, with folks stopping in before making their way, most to The Rabbit Hole, Storybrooke’s sole den of iniquity, otherwise known as a bar.

She gave herself a mental shake for being so judgmental, and ordered a snack when the waitress - a woman named Ashley, or so it said on her name tag - came out to take her order, and at the last moment added a request for an iced tea to go with it. She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t notice Ruby approaching until her friend pulled out the other chair at the table, and all but fell into it.

“The hell, woman,” she said in a playful kind of scalding, “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

“Sorry,” Belle answered, realizing at the last minute how glum she sounded, and tried to lighten her dour answer, by offering Ruby a somewhat unconvincing smile. Ruby didn’t buy it for a minute.

“All right, Girlfriend,” she said pointedly, and sat back in her chair to fold her arms across her chest, “Spill. What’s going on?”

“Nothing, I just—”

“Bull!” Ruby accused. “I know that look. There’s something going on. What’s up?”

Belle sighed softly, wondering if confiding in Ruby was the right thing to do. She had already divulged her worries to Mister Gold, and it seemed to bother him. Would it be right to involve Ruby as well?

One look at her friend told her that she was not going to get away with _not_ at least telling her what was on her mind. She sighed.

“I’m… worried about the girl that comes to help out in the library,” she said after a moment and a sip of her tea. “There’s this… neighbor of hers, and she came to tell me she wasn’t coming today, or next week, and—”

“Hold on,” Ruby interrupted. “The girl’s neighbor drops by to let you know she’s not coming and it’s somehow sinister?”

“Well, it wasn’t so much _what_ she said as the _way_ she said it, and when I mentioned it to Mister Gold just now, it seemed to bother him, so—”

“I think you better start at the beginning.” Ruby said, her tone serious. “What has Gold got to do with any of this?”

“Well that’s just it,” Belle said, “I have no idea, but when I told him what was going on he seemed to get… agitated or angry… something. He shrugged it off pretty quickly, but it made me uneasy; even more worried than I already was.”

“Let me check I’m understanding,” Ruby said. “The girl’s neighbor does you the courtesy of coming to tell you that she can’t make it to work, and because of the way she told you, you’ve gotten your panties in a bunch?”

“She was hostile, Ruby,” Belle insisted, “Downright nasty, and Jefferson said—”

“Whoa, wait.” Ruby held up a hand to stop Belle from saying anything else. “The guy from the party is in on this too? I think you really _had_ better start at the beginning, and tell me _everything_.”

Belle told the tale, haltingly and with many interruptions. Ruby questioned and commented, challenged and offered perspective, but in the end it seemed that she agreed. There was something fishy going on, and agreed that if Belle didn’t get any answers - satisfactory answers - from the school teacher, then perhaps approaching Child Services was the right thing to do.

Then, as if suddenly remembering a part of Belle’s explanation that seemed oddly out of place, Ruby said, “Wait a minute. You said you went to see Gold? What for?”

“To apologize,” Belle answered without thinking, “for last night?”

“Last night?” Ruby frowned in confusion, “I thought you were out with Hunter last night, getting your late night booty call in the—”

“Ruby!” Belle protested, just a little too loudly, drawing undue attention to them, so she leaned in closer and lowered her voice.

“It was a _picnic_ ,” she said, “and yes, we kissed but…”

She sighed.

“What did you do?” Ruby rumbled, giving her a knowing look.

“Oh, nothing like that,” Belle said, unable to keep the blush from her face, “I mean… we might have done but… but then Mister Gold showed up. Hunter’s truck was blocking the way back onto the road, and he was trying to get an injured lamb to the vet. He was beastly about it though, bickering back and forth with me, and with hunter; suggestive, so… I slapped him.”

Ruby laughed, peels of laughter coming from her until she hiccuped to a halt at Belle’s repeated assertions that it wasn’t funny.

“You slapped Gold?”

“Yes,” Belle said, and flushed with shame. “So, that’s why I went to apologize, and we had tea together, and then I told him about Paige, as I said, and he got… weird.”

“If you ask me, he’s already weird,” Ruby said, then added, “but if you want my honest opinion, I think he’s a better man than Hunter will _ever_ be.”

“I _didn’t_ ask you,” Belle answered dryly. “And yet, here we are, somehow discussing my non-existent love life.”

“It wouldn’t _be_ non-existent if you’d stop pining and chasing around after hunter, and let yourself see what was under your nose right here in Storybrooke!” Ruby threw up a hand, and Belle could tell that she had grown exasperated with her entire situation. She sighed again.

“I’m not ‘chasing.’” She said softly. “I’m… living in the moment. Wasn’t it _you_ who told me I was always too… regimented, too inflexible?”

“You just try too hard, sometimes, Belle, that’s all; try to make everything go according to plan. Life’s not like that.” Ruby reached out and covered Belle’s hand with her own. “And my timing is shit, but… there’s something I need to tell you.”

“What is it?” Belle asked, almost breathless as her heart sank into her stomach. “What’s wrong?”

Ruby sighed and squeezed Belle’s hand. “I have to go back to Boston,” she said.

“No,” Belle tried not to sound like she was whining, but her heart, which was still sitting in the bottom of her stomach clenched hard. “No, you can’t. I need you _here_.”

“Belle, if I don’t go back, they’re going to fire me,” Ruby said, her tone apologetic as well as worried. “I don’t have any choice.”

“You could stay here,” Belle suggested, though she knew that her words were just a foolish pipe dream even as she spoke them. “I’m sure you’d be able to find work, and…”

“And what?” Ruby asked as she trailed off. “Sleep on your couch for the rest of eternity?”

Belle knew she wasn’t being unkind, just trying to get her to see the reality of the situation, but the thought of Ruby leaving, and being by herself in Storybrooke… She had become used to Ruby being around.

“I’m sure you could find a place of your own,” Belle still argued, even knowing it was futile, and knowing, too, that Ruby _wouldn’t_ be leaving if she didn’t _have_ to. “Mister Gold has—”

“You and I both know that even if he _does_ have a vacant property, there’s no _way_ Gold is going to rent it to me,” Ruby interrupted. “I’m sorry, Belle, but… I have to go.” She sighed, and then giving Belle a wry smile, added, “Besides… you _don’t_ need me. You got this, just…”

Belle raised an eyebrow and prompted her to go on, watching as several different expressions passed across Ruby’s face. She suspected she was not going to like what she was about to hear.

“Just… be careful, yeah? With Hunter?” She held up a hand to prevent Belle from interrupting just as she opened her mouth to do just that. “I know you don’t want to hear it, and I respect that, I do, but what kind of friend would I be if I didn’t warn you? There’s something distinctly… off about that guy.”

Belle sighed, but in the end nodded, closing her eyes as she did. “I promise.”

They sat in silence for a long time after that. Belle was lost in her own little world where everything started to fall into place - wishful thinking, she knew, but she had to at least _try_ to be positive about her journey into the future. She had the library to run, and the people of Storybrooke to serve.

Movement out of the corner of her eye made her half turn to see Gus walking across the terrace, and before she could stop herself she had called out for him to come and join them.

“Never one to turn down a lovely lady,” he said with a wink as he pulled up a chair and sat down, “and especially not two.”

“Flatterer,” Ruby said dryly, but Belle saw the smile light up her face anyway, and it made her try one last ditch effort to get Ruby to change her mind.

“Gus, will you please tell Ruby she had to stay. She says she has to go back to Boston, and—”

“I know,” he said softly, “She told me the other night. I tried then, Belle, believe me, but I can’t make her do anything. Far too strong willed,” he added with a wink at Ruby.

Ruby chuckled, and Belle sighed.

“At least promise me you’ll come back soon,” she said.

“Are you kidding,” Ruby answered with a grin, “Of course I will. I still have far too many boxes of books whose address is Storybrooke, Maine.”


	34. Threats

The apartment felt very empty without Ruby, and breakfasts became lonely affairs with bowls of cereal and a hastily made cup of tea, which she invariably ended up carrying down to the library with her when she couldn’t stand the solitude any more. It was odd, but she felt less alone when she was surrounded by books.

Today, though, she _did_ find herself feeling lonely; lonely and worried. For the third time in as many weeks, Paige hadn’t turned up for her after school internship - as Belle liked to call it - at the library. She knew it wasn’t a formal arrangement or anything of the sort, but she enjoyed Paige’s company, and the girl was very good at organizing; making suggestions for the library’s weekly story-time. She was very quick thinking and clever.

The last few weeks, however, when she _had_ come to the library she seemed tired and listless, uninterested in the things she usually enjoyed. She didn’t shirk, and the work she did for Belle was still accurate, and completed with her usual swift efficiency, but she seemed to take little joy in the work as she used to. Nor did she seem to be troubled by the work she was to do, angry or resentful, it felt to Belle almost like a tired kind of… relief.

This time, Belle decided, she could let the absence slide, and though she was loathe to do so, she closed up the library, with a note on the door that said she would be back shortly, and began the long march up the road toward the school. She had no idea what she would say when she got there, but she couldn’t sit idly by and watch a young girl’s future go to hell in a hand-basket because no one would look out for her.

“Miss Marchland,” Belle started slightly as the familiar voice called her name from beside the hardware store, repeating, louder, “Belle!” when she did not stop, forcing him to trot to catch up with her.

“Is everything all right,” Jefferson asked as he fell into step with her, and now that they were side by side he could take much shorter strides.

“I’m sorry, Jefferson, I’m in a bit of a hurry,” she said. “I want to try and catch Miss Blanchard before she leaves the school.”

“Is this about Paige?” he asked, and was forced to turn around to continue his conversation with her when Belle pulled up short.

“How… how do _you_ know about Paige?” she asked.

For a moment she saw a flash of something almost like pain cross his blue eyes, which she noticed, only now - and thinking back on the last time she saw him - seemed a little red rimmed, but then he answered hesitantly, “Uh… Gold?”

“Gold told you?” she asked, feeling somewhat put out that Gold had spoken of their private conversation with another person.

“Not… exactly,” Jefferson hedged. “He may have mentioned in passing that you were worried.”

She nodded a little stiffly and began to walk again, as she started to say, “Well, I am, I—”

She broke off with a soft ‘oof’ sound, even as Jefferson’s fingers folded almost gently around her arm, no doubt meaning to draw her aside as she literally ran into Mayor Mills as she came out of Doctor Hopper’s office.

“Well, if it isn’t our erstwhile Librarian,” she sneered. “Shouldn’t you be at the library?”

“I’m taking a lunch break,” Belle snapped.

“At three-thirty in the afternoon?” Doubt colored the mayor’s voice, and Belle scowled.

“When I take my lunch is none of your business, Madam Mayor,” she said.

“Besides,” Jefferson piped up, a half convincing smile on his face, “she’s out on library business.”

“Oh, really?” Regina cocked an eyebrow at Belle, and then lowered her voice slightly to say, “If _I_ were you… Jefferson, I’d keep my nose out of whatever is going on here.”

“Are you threatening him!”

The mayor had been the last person Belle had either wanted or expected to run into on the walk from the library to the school, but that didn’t mean she felt in any way intimidated. After all the times Regina had tried to throw something into her path to prevent Belle from opening the library, she was more than ready for a fight, and her getting all up in Jefferson’s face - metaphorically at least - was enough to trigger Belle into full on rebellion. After all, the man was only sticking up for her.

“Belle,” Jefferson said, his mouth set into a hard line and his breath coming down his nose in an angry kind of sigh, “It’s all right.”

“No, it is _not_ all right,” Belle said, stepping between the mayor and Jefferson, and turning to face him. “Since when is it all right for the mayor of _any_ town to go around threatening private citizens. She’s supposed to _protect_ your rights, your needs.”

“Oh, but I am,” Regina’s oily, deep, soft voice predicated the tickle of her breath close to Belle’s ear, and she couldn’t help but shudder. Without apparent notice, Regina went on, “There are many people in this town, Miss Marchland, about whom you know nothing. So, I will let this one slide - for now, but…” She stood up straight as Belle turned to look at her, nothing but indignation and outrage on her face. “If I find you’ve been… interfering… _helping_ where your help isn’t wanted, not even the town council will stop me from closing the library, and turning you out of town on you ass.”

Belle spluttered at Regina’s words, ready to argue, ready to fight, but Jefferson’s soft touch on her elbow stilled her.

“Do I make myself clear?” the mayor said, then looking between Belle and Jefferson. “Both of you?” When neither answered, she snapped, “Go _home_ , Jefferson, and you, Little Miss Marchland, don’t you have a library to run?”

The mayor turned then, and walked up along Third Street toward the elementary school, leaving no way for Belle to get to speak with Miss Blanchard without passing the mayor.

“Belle, I’m sorry, I—” Jefferson began as soon as Regina was out of earshot.

“No, really, it’s fine, I’ll… I’ll just talk with Mary Margaret another time,” she said, nodding vigorously, trying to convince herself as well as Jefferson. “No harm done.”

“I, uh…” he gestured behind himself, “I have to go. Home. I have to go home.”

“You don’t have to leave just because—”

“Really. I do, I…” he started to move away, “I’m sorry.” 

He turned along Second, and out of sight before Belle could answer, and with a sigh, she doubled back, retraced her own steps and returned to the library.

She felt on tenterhooks for the rest of the afternoon, half expecting the mayor to burst in on her any moment, and with half her mind running through everything that had happened. Not that she knew him well, but she had never seen Jefferson act the way he had in front of the mayor. She decided there _had_ to be something going on; something the mayor had to hold over him and make him do as she wanted, and that he was one of the people - as the mayor had so indelicately put it - about whom she knew nothing, but she was resolved to find out.

She decided that she was going to close the library early that evening, and take a walk. She found out from Leroy, when he came in to return the book he’d borrowed, that Jefferson lived a long way out of town and thought that a walk might do her some good, might help to settle her mind before she tried to sleep that night, however her semi-nocturnal wanderings took her nowhere near to ‘Casa Jefferson.’ Instead, she found herself arriving at The Bend.

She sighed. That hadn’t at all been her intention, to return to the scene of the latest of her mistakes with Hunter, and far from calming her, it sent her mind swirling - and she couldn’t deny the way her heart sped up when she saw that there was a plastic zip-lock bag attached to the nail in the tree.

She grabbed the bag and virtually ripped it from the tree as she reached inside to pull out the note. It was as uncomplicated as they came. Seven short words written on a sheet of notepaper that had been ripped out, folded once and put into the bag. 

_“Please come to Boston to meet me.”_

It was unsigned, and could only have been written by Hunter. After a moment of thought she pulled out her cell phone, flicked open the contact’s list and dialed Ruby’s number.


	35. The Fifth Wheel

“I’m _telling_ you, Ruby,” Belle said, “I’m serious. You should come to Storybrooke.”

It was early on Saturday evening and the two women were out for a girls night on the town, and Boston had never felt so _huge_ and so noisy to Belle as it did now. The bar that Ruby frequented wasn’t exactly a huge place, but still Belle had to raise her voice to be heard, between the post game football crowd, and the pre-game basketball revelers there was little to _no_ chance of holding a private conversation.

“I’ll come with you, buttercup.” The drunk frat-boy at the bar slurred and leaned toward Belle as he muscled his way into the conversation.

“Get _lost_ asshole!” Ruby answered. She gave young man a shove that almost send him sliding off his stool, before she picked up their drinks and led Belle away to a corner and the table that was almost always vacant, no matter how busy the bar was.

“Sorry about that,” she said as they sat. “It _never_ used to be that bad in here before, and certainly not filled with jocks, that’s for sure.”

“You love it really,” Belle teased, and picked up the drink that Ruby set in front of her. “Ogling all the hot bodies!”

“Yeah, the ones that remind me I dropped out of grad. School to go and make copies and file letters,” Ruby answered somewhat bitterly. “I swear, they’re treating me like shit.”

“So _come_ and live in Storybrooke,” Belle persisted. “There have to be lawyer’s offices there, right? You could get a job, sign up for an online course, and finished your degree that way. You weren’t that far off, and it wasn’t _your_ fault that you had to drop out, either.”

“Maybe not, but what was my excuse for not going back once it was all… over?” she asked, and Belle shook her head, covering Ruby’s hand with her own.

“Ruby, trust me. You’d do _great_ in Storybrooke.” Ruby threw back her drink, her face creasing in a wince as she swallowed, Belle suspecting the alcohol burning down her throat, and bit her lip. She should never have let let the conversation turn the way it had. “Piotr _wasn’t_ your fault, Ruby, you know that.”

“I know. It’s okay.” Ruby smiled then, but then grimace as the crowd at the bar erupted into raucous laughter, followed by suggestive cheers. She turned to Belle and asked, “You wanna get out of here?”

She rubbed her fingers across her forehead. Either the alcohol or the noise was getting to her and her head was beginning to ache. She nodded, then offered Ruby a cheeky grin then as she finished downing what remained of her drink. “How about we get tacos on the way home?”

Rather than take a cab, the two women decided to walk home, stopping to eat their tacos on a bench overlooking the river.

“This is better,” Belle said quietly, after emptying her mouth from a bite of chicken taco.

“The food?” Ruby asked.

“No, the quiet,” Belle licked her fingers clean of juice and reached for the cup that held her drink. “I hadn’t realized how much I’d gotten used to the quiet in Storybrooke until I wasn’t there any more. Here it’s so noisy… so… busy.”

“You used to thrive on that,” Ruby reminded her.

“Exactly,” she said, “That’s just my point. I think that Storybrooke really _is_ just what I needed.”

Ruby smiled over at her, and took another bite of her taco, before she said, “I’m glad you’re happy there.”

“You could be too,” Belle persisted, “if only you’re give it a chance.”

“I’d love to,” Ruby said. “But I’m not _brave_ like you.”

“Brave? Me?” Belle let out a humorless chuckle. “Hardly.”

“You are.” Ruby set the wrapped taco down in her lap and counted off on her fingers as she spoke. “You just picked up and left here for somewhere unknown. You challenged the Mayor in order to be allowed to open the library… you’ve settled, and made friends in your new home…”

“Not as much as you’d think,” Belle said, a little mournfulness in her voice.

There was a long silence before Ruby asked, “Have you heard from Hunter?”

Belle shook her head, “Beyond the note his left for me asking me to meet him here in Boston, no. I”m still waiting for him to contact me, but so far… nothing.”

Ruby sighed. “Well, if he asked you to come here, then I’m sure he _will_ contact you.”

Belle reached over and covered ruby’s hand with her own before the other woman could pick up her taco again.

“I know you don’t trust him, Ruby,” she said, “so it means a lot to me that you’d say that.”

Ruby turned her hand beneath Belle’s and gave it a squeeze. “It doesn’t matter what _I_ do or don’t think of him. It’s what _you_ think that matters.”

Belle offered her a smile, and the two of them lapsed into silence as they ate their food and, afterwards, walked home arm in arm.

The following day saw the two friends heading to the warehouse on Union Warf where a book sale was being held. Belle had found out about it the previous day from a flier that had, ironically, been pasted onto the notice board beside the doorway of the bar she and Ruby had bailed on the night before and Ruby had agreed to come with her.

What neither of them anticipated was the person who would be waiting for them at the door.

“Hunter?” Belle said in surprise, and accepted his hug as he leaned down to give it. Ruby simply glared.

“You got my note,” he said, and Belle detected a note of certainty in his voice that bordered on arrogance. She felt a stirring of unease. “And I knew if you were here, in Boston, I mean, you would be at this book sale.”

“Which means I’m _working_ , Hunter,” Belle said, about to protest further, but he interrupted.

“I know. I know, I just want to help, that’s all,” he said. “And if there are more books that you can carry, I can—”

“No,” she countered at once. “I can’t ask you to do that. You risk your job every time you do that for me, and I don’t want that.” She tried to soften the blow with a smile and added, “I do appreciate the offer, but… I mean to do things _properly_ this time.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Belle saw Ruby nod approvingly.

“Well then, afterwards,” Hunter said. “After here, at least let me take you to eat - both of you. I have a picnic…!” He lifted the basket he was carrying, and waggled it slightly as if to be tempting, while at the same time offering the sweetest smile he had ever given to Belle. “To make up for…” he shrugged. “I was a fool.”

She shook her head, and then reached out to squeeze his arm. “All right. Afterwards - we eat… together.”

The book sale was everything that Belle could have hoped it would be, and the picnic Hunter provided for the three of them just as delicious as she remembered the one in Storybrooke Forest had been, and afterwards, she an Ruby and Hunter had lounged around on the picnic blanket in the park where they had enjoyed their time together. At first the three behaved simply as friends, but then, as the afternoon grew warmer, and the heat, and Hunter, melted Belle’s resolve to be… retrained, she ended up first leaning against him, and then lying on the blanket with her head in his lap, his fingers running through her hair.

The contact felt good, and the attention he was showing to her made her feel valued; wanted. It made her realize that this was what had been missing for so long. It gave her a chance to forget that she had a past, that she had struggled with herself and her own self image; it made her understand that she _was_ valuable, and capable, and that while she’d had to fight for many of the advances she had made in the last several months, there had always been someone there, watching her back, taking risks for her and helping her out in ways that no one - or very few - had without wanting something in return. That Hunter, it seemed, wanted only her happiness.

“You know what?” Ruby said softly, starting to sit up. “I’m starting to feel a little bit like a fifth wheel around here, and besides, I just realized that I have something to finish for work tomorrow. I’m just going to give you love-birds some space… some time.”

“You don’t have to go go on my account,” Belle said, sitting up and trying to catch Ruby’s hand as the other woman reached for her purse

“Yeah,” Ruby said, “Really, Belle. It’s for the best, and I’ll see you at home later.”

She didn’t even give Belle a chance to respond to that before she began the long walk out of the park and towards home.

Belle sat there for many long minutes before she broke the silence with an awkward, “Well… I, um…”

Hunter shook his head. “It… is my fault. I am sorry.”

“No, Hunter, this is not on you,” she said with a sigh. Ruby and I have known each other for long enough, been _friends_ for long enough that she’s been my ‘fifth wheel’ before, and for anyone else, she would have stuck around.” She sighed in angry frustration, “but because it’s _you_ …?”

“Don’t be mad at her, my Belle,” he said quietly and took her hands, caressing her fingertips with his own. “She is only looking out for you, and she doesn’t _know_ me the way you do.”

He sighed softly, and then releasing Belle, began to pick up the dishes and pack away the remains of the picnic.

“What are you doing?” Belle asked.

“There is somewhere I would like you to see,” he said, then once everything was packed away, got to his feet and held out his hand to help her up. “If you will trust me enough to come with me?” he added playfully.

Belle looked up at him for only a moment before she took his hand, and allowed him to help her climb to her feet.

“All right,” she said as she got her balance, and let go of his hand, not yet quite ready to walk along hand in hand, in public. She picked up her purse, and then asked, “Where are we going?”

“You will see,” he said with an almost cheeky twinkle in his eyes. “Come.”

He held out his hand in a gesture meant, she was certain, to convey that she should precede him from the park and onto the sidewalk of the street outside the wrought iron gate, paralleling the park for some way before the park railing veered off one way, and the sidewalk curved to the left, private houses filled the space between the two.

Every few steps or so, Hunter’s fingers would brush the side of her hand as though he were trying to draw her fingers into his by some kind of magnetism. In the end, with a soft sigh - mostly at herself for being so reticent to do so, she allowed the contact, and felt him take her small hand into his larger one and entwine their fingers.

She looked up at him then, contemplating his handsome looks, his obvious strength; thinking of what they had almost begun to share in the woods back in Storybrooke. The thought brought a blush to her face.

“What are you thinking?” he asked, tipping his head to the side and for a moment releasing her fingers to brush a touch against her reddened cheek before taking hold of her hand again.

“Why me?” she asked softly. It was a question that had begun to niggle at her - unconsciously at first - but of late far more often surfacing as an unbidden question she threw at herself whenever she brought her relationship with Hunter to mind.

“What do you mean?” he said, and for a moment she couldn’t tell if he were feigning ignorance.

“Why choose me to suddenly help out of nowhere?” she pressed. “I mean, I understand that you almost ran your truck into my little van but—”

“You are thinking that a reaction such as Karrl’s would have been more honest?” he asked softly.

“Well wouldn’t it?” she asked. “The two of you _did_ almost run into a stationary vehicle in the middle of the road. Not exactly what you expect when you’re driving down a country road, is it?”

“A tractor, a disabled vehicle,” he shrugged after each item he named, “An animal.” He slowed his steps. “Part of being a good driver; the best,” he said, “Is that when you drive, you are one with the rig, and you are ready for anything.” He grinned then, and without releasing her hand turned to walk backwards, facing her, heedless of anything behind him as he fixed his eyes almost hungrily on Belle’s face. “Then, the minute I saw your beauty…” he trailed off with another shrug. “Besides, why behave hideously when Karrl had already done that.”

Belle tutted softly. “Be serious,” she said with another blush in spite of her doubts.

“I _am_ being serious,” he told her, turning to walk beside her again. “We are almost there.”

He shifted the picnic basket under his arm, barely catching his jacket which he had draped across the wicker to be able carry everything at once, and he apologized as he had to let go of her hand to organize everything again.

Belle too a moment to look around herself as he righted his load. The private housing had subtly metamorphosed into small apartment blocks, and up ahead to larger, more industrial looking buildings. It seemed like a less savory part of town than the park, and she began to worry. Where was he taking her?

“Here,” he said, as he came to a sudden halt beside a driveway that led to a silver metal gate, beyond which she could see an unkempt area of bushes and trees beside the driveway that curved around to the left again. _Always to the left._

Her growing worry was somewhat dampened as she caught sight of the notice that hung on the gate. _Community Garden_ , it read, the words stacked on top of one another in bold black letters. Beneath, in smaller letters the words, _Plots available_ , and a phone number to call to inquire. She glanced over at Hunter.

“You keep a garden here?” she asked, and couldn’t keep the surprise from her voice. Gardening did not strike her as the kind of thing she would expect of him.

“Vegetables, mostly,” he said with a shrug, and pushed open the gate to usher her inside. “On my days off, I come here, open my shed, tend my plot of land and…” he trailed off again with another shrug, that made Belle feel was somewhat awkward. “I wanted you to see it.”

He led her down the driveway, around the curve and beyond the obscuring shrubs, Belle saw the tidy, well kept rectangles of land, some separated from others by chicken wire, or home made fences of scrap wood. Further in she could make out the odd small buildings beside larger plots. It was to one of these he led her, set down the basket beside the door and fumbled in his jacket pocket for a bunch of keys that rattled in his hand, as he raised them to the lock.

“This is mine,” he said as he unfastened the padlock, and nodded to the large patch of dirt beside the shed - well enough tended, with rows of vegetables: beans and cabbages, what looked like potato plants and something else she couldn’t quite identify.

She smiled. “It looks lovely,” she said.

“It keeps me busy,” he said, and turned to her with the padlock in his hand. “Stops me from being quite so lonely for your company.”

“Hunter,” she scolded in soft embarrassment. “Stop.”

“Why, when it is the truth?” he asked.

Belle sighed, and said softly, “Hunter, I’m flattered, honestly, but… we hardly know each other.” She held up a hand to prevent him from interrupting, before she continued, “And I know we have shared many things in our notes, but…”

Hunter shook his head, and offered a smile. “It is all right,” he said, “I understand.” Then he gestured inside the shed to where, along side the tools and carefully sorted, organized and labeled starter trays, with tiny plants just poking their heads above the compost, was a futon style couch, and a small, low bookshelf on top of which stood a lantern style flashlight, and a book, which she recognized. He must have watched her taking everything in, because he added, “It is _here_ I read the books and letters you have sent to me.”

She gasped softly, swallowing as he moved into the shed to sit on the futon, patting the space beside him. “My beautiful Belle,” he whispered softly as he did, and she could not take her eyes from him.

“I’m… sorry about… what happened before,” she said quietly. “Mister Gold, I mean.”

He shook his head, obviously trying to keep his expression neutral, but she saw his eyes harden for a moment. “I do not want to think about that; about him,” he said. “He is… bad news, and I would not have him sour another moment between us.” He patted the space next to him again, and said even more quietly, “Come.”

She moved then, as if under some kind of compulsion, not really looking where she was stepping, her eyes still taking in everything about the bookshelf and the small stack of books that stood on top of it. On the shelf below, open shoe boxes containing packets of seeds of all kinds squeezed side by side along the width of the bookshelf, and on the shelf beneath, beside containers of plant food and fertilizers, other boxes capped with lids were stacked.

“All… this…?” she whispered, but he simply patted the couch beside him yet again, offering her a smile that was almost bashful. Almost.

The rustle, and then the thud of something hitting the ground slightly behind her broke the spell, and she turned to see that she had caught his jacket with her arm as she walked past and pulled it to the ground. She leaned down with a quiet apology to pick up his jacket and fold it carefully before setting it back on top of the picnic basket. As she did she noticed a six by four rectangle, white in color on the wooden ‘deck’ that extended from the front of the shed.

She bent down to pick it up, instinctively turning it over to reveal the photograph she now held in her hand. She frowned. The face of the little girl staring back at her from the photograph was unmistakably familiar. She had Hunters dark hair, dark eyes, and the same, generous mouth.

“You… have a daughter…?” she said, the words not _quite_ a question.


	36. Something Real?

Belle looked up from the photograph to look at Hunter’s face. His expression was a mixture of contrition and hope. She felt her belly knot, even as her mind began racing to create explanations in the wake of Hunter’s continued silence. The combination made her bitter, bordering on angry.

“And presumably this daughter has a mother?”

“Beautiful, I can—”

“Explain?” Belle erupted. “About your daughter, or about her mother? Is she your wife? Are you—?”

“Belle, please, listen for a moment, hmm?”

She folded her arms across her chest, and raised an eyebrow. It was all she could do not to tap her foot, not out of impatience, but of her own nervousness; not _wanting_ to hear the answer and have her world rattled in place.

“I _was_ going to tell you,” he said quietly, his hands tucked between his knees as he looked up at her, “I promise, just…” he trailed off, looking down at his clasped hands.

“Just what?” she demanded. “When? After you got bored of leading me a merry dance?”

“Belle, that’s _not_ what this is,” he said.

“Then _what_!” she demanded again. “Don’t you think that the fact that you have a daughter is something you should _tell_ someone you’re… seeing?” she paused before the last word, trying to find one that was appropriate, and feeling ‘dating’ wouldn’t be quite right.

“Of course, but…” he trailed off again.

“But _nothing_ ,” Belle snapped, fighting tears; of frustration, humiliation… of anger. Why couldn’t he have told her?” She could think of only one answer to her own, bitter question. “I notice you didn’t answer my question either, Hunter. Is the girl’s mother your wife? Because I’m not interested in being someone’s _mistress_.” She said the word with all the vitriol she felt.

“No,” he said softly. “She is not my wife. We are not married.”

Something in the way he looked, or sounded stole the relief that should have come with those words and replaced it with even more doubt. “But you’re still involved… romantically, I mean.”

“She is my daughter’s mother,” he said, as though that would explain it all.

“But you still… sleep with her,” Belle caught herself before she could become vulgar with her accusations. When he did not answer, and barely looked up at her, she threw up her arms in defeat. “Unbelievable!” she spat. “So what, you thought you could keep her in one place, get a little bit of Storybrooke tail on the side—?”

“That’s not how it is,” he said, speaking over her, and beginning to sit up straighter, as if some kind of proud arrogance were coming over him. “You’re beautiful, you mean so much to—”

A thought occurred to her even as she was running her mouth, raising her voice to drown out his protestations, “Oh, my gods! How many more? Maybe one in every port?”

Her eyes shifted from his face to the small box beside the books she had left for him on the tree, to the stack of similar boxes on the lower shelf. He followed her gaze, and slowly got to his feet. She looked back, gaping at him and remembering Gold referring to him as a kind of ‘privateer.’

“Belle,” Hunter began slowly, but she shook her head.

“No, Hunter.” She held out the photograph and shook it at him. “Don’t _lie_ to me.”

“I am not lying to you. You mean so much to me, I—”

“I mean _nothing_ but a body to keep you warm and sated on cold nights in Maine!” His words enraged her; made her feel her humiliation all the more. “How _dare_ you! What were you… grooming me? Did you expect I wouldn’t find out?” She didn’t pause to give him a chance to interject. “God’s how many of them did you bring _here_ , just like this, to… what? Seduce us all?” Then to herself murmured, “How _stupid_ was I? If Gold hadn’t come along—”

“You should stay away from him,” Hunter warned, taking a step toward her, but she backed up. “He’s a dark one, and that’s the truth.”

“Oh, _you_ don’t get to tell me what I should or shouldn’t do,” she told him, almost snarling. “Or whom I should see or not see.” She stepped forward then, and pressed the picture against his chest with one finger in the center of it and looking up at him, her eyes burning hot, her body trembling. “You just… _stay_ away from me. Stay. Away!”

She turned then, letting go of the photograph, uncaring whether he caught it or not, and picked up her purse before striding off toward the pathway out of the community garden without looking back, and without responding to his calls of her name, and pathetic pleas to wait.

Only when she was certain he was not coming after her did she slow her pace and then let her tears fall. She had been so stupid. She had not seen the kind of man he was when others had seen so clearly and warned her. She had _argued_ his innocence, because she had been so _blinded_ by her need to feel appreciated that she had fallen for his… what? Was it all a game to him?

She walked and walked and walked, uncaring of the strangers who saw her red rimmed eyes, or the tracks left by the tears that fell. She felt such a fool, and she knew… she just _knew_ there would be more than one person willing - probably _happy_ to tell her, “I told you so.”

She sighed and wiped away more tears, finally close enough to the center of town that she could catch a cab, and head back to Ruby’s to face the music, then berated herself for thinking so little of Ruby that she would rub her face in what Hunter had done. Then again, she sighed again, Ruby was nothing if not honest with her, brutally so at times.

The cab she hailed pulled in beside her, and wearily she climbed in to the back and gave Ruby’s address. As the cab began to move she watched the buildings and the city speeding past and felt the last few strands of all that tied her to Boston unravel, leaving her free - more than free - to settle herself in Storybrooke for good. Just one bright strand remained.

Ruby.

* * *

“What!”

Even though she had tried to prepare herself for Ruby’s reaction when she told her. As the two sat down with the bottle of wine, and the take out that they’d ordered, and Belle had told her everything that had happened at the community garden, Ruby’s outraged reaction had brought back the flood of tears.

“Motherfucker!” Ruby added, “I should cut his balls off!”

“Hardly worth the trouble,” Belle managed, though the tears. “He just better not try and look me up in Storybrooke, that’s all.”

“You’re definitely going back then,” Ruby asked, and Belle frowned, wiping away her tears with the tissue Ruby offered.

“Of course I’m going back,” she said. “It’s my home, and I may be lonely, and probably end up like some crazy cat librarian, but…”

“That was why, wasn’t it?” Ruby asked softly.

“What, because I was so afraid of becoming a cat lady?” Belle scoffed, “that I didn’t see what you and Gold _both_ saw, and let myself get used?”

“To be fair,” Ruby said even more gently, “We _did_ both warn you we though he was no good.” Belle sighed, and Ruby added quickly, “I’m not trying to say I told you so, b—”

“But you did,” Belle said, “And I didn’t listen. I was stupid, and it’s on me.”

“It’s _not_ on you though,” Ruby argued and moved closer to Belle, putting her arm round her. Belle gave in and laid her head on Ruby’s shoulder, and her friend only held her the tighter. “Hunter is a grown-ass man, and he should fucking know better; treat women better, the sleaze! I tell you, I better not see him in any of the clubs around here, I’ll… cut him off at the knees!”

Belle chuckled as Ruby obviously struggled to think of a threat bad enough for what she thought Hunter deserved. Her friend joined in the chuckle.

“Just promise me one thing,” Ruby said as their shared, sad laugher subsided.

“What’s that?” Belle asked, tipping her head so that she could look at Ruby.

“When you get back to Storybrooke, find something _real_.”

“Come _with_ me,” Belle countered, not _quite_ trying to change the subject, but not quite sure she believed in ‘real’ any more.


	37. Everyone Does

After the jangling bustle of Boston, and all of the emotion that had been piled on top of her, the quiet of Storybrooke felt like a welcome balm, soothing a soul that ached for all that seemed to have eluded her through her whole life, and eluded her still. Ruby, at least, had promised to _think_ about moving to Storybrooke, so perhaps she wouldn’t be alone forever.

Even as she was thinking that, working on cataloging the books she had brought back from Ruby’s and the ones she had purchased at the book sale as a distraction from such thoughts, the town reminded her, in its own unique way, that she was not as alone as she feared.

“Now _there’s_ a sight for sore eyes,” Leroy bellowed as he pushed through the library doors. “Welcome home, Sister.”

Belle smiled. How could she not with that kind of greeting? She put down the book she had been labeling and came around the desk to give Leroy a brief hug.

“It’s good to see you too,” she said as she drew back. “What can I do for you.”

Leroy’s expression became a little sheepish, and he colored a little before reaching inside his jacket to pull out a well worn paperback book. She recognized it at once. It was the copy of _Mystic River_ that she had been reading when she first came to Storybrooke, and which she had left behind.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Leroy said, hanging his head almost like a school boy confessing to wrongdoing in the classroom, “but when you left it behind, I picked it up and read the back… and then the first few pages, and…” he shrugged.

“Of _course_ I don’t mind,” Belle said, and her eyes truly twinkled with delight as she reached out to squeeze Leroy’s arm. “What did you think of it?”

“I loved it!” Leroy looked up, the worry and contrition and sheepishness leaving his face as he became animated. “I never thought they’d write books about people like this. I hated having to put it down, but as I said, the hospital keeps me busy and… well that’s why it took me such a long time to read it.”

“It doesn’t matter how long it takes, so long as you enjoy a book,” Belle said.

“Anyway,” Leroy nodded his agreement, “I wanted to be sure to return it, and…” he shrugged again.

“Yes?” Belle asked softly.

“Well, I was wondering if you had… any more like this one?” Leroy half gestured around the library.

Belle nodded with a smile, “We have quite a few, actually, by this author. He’s very good.” She gestured toward the adult fiction section of the library and said, “Fic: LEH”

Leroy hesitated, then asked, “You couldn’t… recommend one, could you?”

Belle thought for a moment. “Hmmm,” she said at last, “I’d perhaps try either, _Sacred,_ or _Darkness, Take My Hand._ They should have a similar kind of feel.”

Leroy beamed his thanks and hurried off into to find one of the books in question, and Belle returned to the circulation desk, pulling up his library account so that she would be ready to check his book out for him when he returned.

As lunch time approached, Belle decided to go across to Maggie’s grocery store to see if she had any of her bannocks. She had a craving for them. Maggie greeted her with a cheery smile, and a knowing twinkle as she began to package a few of the bannocks into a paper bag for Belle to take.

“I heard ye were back a day or so ago, and I figured you’d be in soon,” she said by way of explanation. “So, are ye ready?”

“Ready?” Belle asked, puzzled. “For what?”

“The weekend,” Maggie said, but Belle kept her expression blank as she wondered what on earth was special about the weekend. “Midsummer?” She watched Maggie’s expression dissolve into a mixture of exasperation and shock. “The Miner’s Day Festival. Don’t tell me no one’s told ye about it.”

“No one at all,” Belle confirmed, finding herself suddenly curious about it. “What is—?”

“It’s _huge_ around here. A whole day and into the night,” Maggie began to explain even though she’d cut off Belle asking what it was. “Traditionally it was a holiday thrown to honor the miners for all their hard work in keeping the town alive in the early days. Then, when the date shifted to Midsummers, it became _the_ place for couples and lovers to find one another.” She chuckled then, “Now, it’s just one big party, although I wouldnae say that none of the latter goes on, and no necessarily behind closed doors, if ye catch ma drift.”

Belle couldn’t help but blush. She _did_ catch Maggie’s drift.

“Ye’ll be going of course,” Maggie said. “Everybody does.”

“Everybody?” Belle asked, feeling uneasy, and wondering whether it was like the Mayor’s Ball, where those that didn’t turn up were ostracized from the town.

“Aye,” Maggie confirmed, “Even Gold, though that’s only been since Milah… well, that was a sorry mess if ever there was one, and probably none o’ ma business to speak on, since you two are— and it was such a long time ago now… you know?”

Belle blushed at Maggie’s insinuations, and _tried_ not to ask, truly she did, but she could not contain her curiosity.

“No, it’s fine, really,” she said, “You can tell me.”

Maggie looked at her dubiously for a long time before saying anything more. “The rumor is that he caught Milah with another man, and even then tried he tried to make things work as best they could because of their wee boy.” Belle nodded, following so far the gossip that Maggie was telling her. “Then one day, after a while, Gold showed up at the apartment to collect the boy and he was missing, along with his mother. Years later, some guy shows up, says he was with Milah since she left, and… well, she’d died. There was never any news about the boy. Everyone assumed he got lost inside the system. Broke his heart it’s said.”

“My gods!” Belle covered her hand with her mouth, “That’s horrible!”

She couldn’t help but recall the tall, dark haired man that had looked like a pirate wannabe at the Mayor’s ball, and wondered if that was the man.

“Aye, it’s tragic, is what it is.” Maggie agreed, “They say that Gold has all manner of investigators out looking for him, but still… nothing.”

“Poor man,” Belle’s heart softened, understanding a little more why Gold should be so bitter and sarcastic most of the time. “And the poor boy.”

“Aye,” Maggie said. “Listen, I shouldnae really have said anything, so…”

Belle reached out and placed a hand over Maggie’s. “I won’t say anything,” she promised.

Maggie nodded with a smile. “So… ye should go to the festival. Enjoy yourself. Ye’ve earned the right to let your hair down a wee bit.”

Belle returned to the library after paying for the bannocks, and assuring Maggie that she would give some serious thought about the weekend. Her mind was filled with what she had just learned even as she tried to push it aside.

It was a day when Paige was supposed to be coming and she wanted to be fully present so that she could be sure to make her feel wanted and valued. Since school finished for the summer vacation, Paige had been coming more regularly again, and Belle had suffered less run-ins with her dreaded neighbor, but still, whenever Trude spotted Belle in the street, Belle _felt_ the dagger that embedded itself between her shoulders. What the hell did the woman have against her?

When she arrived, Paige came in and all but dropped into one of the bean bags in the reading nook.

“Everything all right?” Belle asked softly, coming over to run the tips of her fingers over Paige’s hair, glad of the opportunity to escape from the obvious attempts by Doctor Whale to hit on her.

The girl shrugged. “Just been a lot to do all day, and with the weekend and all.” She sighed and fell silent for a long time before suddenly bursting out, “I _hate_ the Miner’s Day Festival. It’s _stupid!_ ”

“Why do you say that?” Belle asked, and pulled another bean bag closer to where Paige sat.

“It’s supposed to be all about family, and togetherness, but all people ever do is show how we aren’t,” Paige said, running a hand over her little forehead.

“You only say that because you don’t appreciate a lot of the things that happen at the festival,” Doctor Whale’s voice sounded from beside the circulation desk. “You’ll get it when you’re older.”

“Don’t be so… stuck up!” Paige blurted, and surprised, never having seen such behavior from the girl before, Belle gasped softly - even though she agreed with Paige’s assessment of the doctor’s interruption.

“Paige,” she said softly, “The word you’re looking for is condescending.” 

Then getting up from the bean bag, she walked across to the desk, ready to check out the books Whale had set there and ignoring the way he was leaning her way.

“So tell me, Doctor Whale, what is it about the festival that you appreciate?” she asked as she did, offering Paige a cheeky twinkle of her eye over Whale’s shoulder.

“I think it _is_ good the way everyone comes together to celebrate a common value,” he said. “We’re lucky, here in Storybrooke; a small town, with old world values in a big world. It gives us a strong sense of community and as Paige said, family. Everyone dresses in their finery, and the whole atmosphere is one of celebration. It epitomizes Storybrooke.”

“Easy for _you_ to say,” Paige muttered.

Belle raised an eyebrow at her before turning back to Whale and asking somewhat sarcastically, “And of course nothing at all to do with how easy it is at big parties like that to get a date for the night…?”

Across the room, Paige let out a small huff.

“No, of course, nothing,” Whale protested a little too quickly. “My point is… I _really_ think you should come, Belle.”

Belle began to worry that the Miner’s Day Festival would be like the Mayor’s Ball after all. It wasn’t something she wanted to do, even if she did have something to wear. What would she do?

“You should,” Whale repeated. “Everyone does.”

“Oh, because that’s a _great_ reason!” Paige snarked.

Seeming somewhat uncomfortable at the comment, Whale picked up the books he had checked out of the library, and gave Belle a nod, and then glanced over at Paige to add, “You should bring your mother, Paige. It’ll be fun!”

Paige paled as the doctor left the library hard on the heels of his words, and as if he’d just fired the first salvo in some kind of larger war.


	38. Ye Can and Ye Will

Belle spent almost the rest of the day thinking about what Paige had said and what Doctor Whale had _tried_ to say in between his terribly unsubtle flirting, trying not to feel lonely. The apartment was too quiet without Ruby, and dull without the random worry of perhaps walking in on Ruby ‘entertaining’ someone in the lounge when she came up from the library.

All of the following day too, her mind kept drifting back to thoughts of all the advice she had been given on whether or not she should attend the Miner’s Day Festival. It was Friday, and that was usually a busy day for Belle in the library - at least in the afternoon, when those people that finished work early had time to come and turn in their books, or choose others, or just generally come in for a look around, and perhaps a social exchange in the seating area she’d included in the foyer.

Not so that day.

It was as though the entire town had their energies focused on the events that would begin that evening. The few folk that _did_ come into the library were all talk of the festivities, and with whom they would be attending, and as the afternoon went on, and the patrons became fewer and fewer, Belle began to feel more and more despondent, and in the end, with a notice to the effect that the library was closing early in preparation for the town event, she locked the doors and wandered slowly up to her empty apartment.

She sat on the couch, not yet hungry for dinner, and unable to stop herself thinking about the trip to Boston; to what she’d found out about Hunter. She wasn’t sure whether she felt sad or angered by the fact that he hadn’t contacted her since - not even to offer an apology. Of course, she couldn’t be certain about that, because even though he hadn’t called or emailed, he _may_ have left her a note on the tree by The Bend, but in her heart of hearts, she really didn’t want to walk all the way out there to discover there was nothing of the sort, and thereby to find herself even more miserable.

On automatic, she reached for her book that sat, untouched, on the coffee table. Many times that week she had tried to read, to figure out where it was she had gotten to in the book before she had left it in Granny’s Diner the first time she came to Storybrooke, and it had disappeared into the hands of a new fan. That made her smile; the thought that she had been able to give something of enjoyment to Leroy after he’d done so much for _her_. She slipped her finger into the page of the book as she thought about it for a while, her mind wandering, and then flipped the pages open again, eventually, but her heart simply wasn’t in it.

The sudden sound of the door buzzer made her jump, and she couldn’t help but wonder who on _Earth_ would be calling her at such a late hour. Carefully she made her way to the control box that would open the outer door, and allow the caller up to the apartment. She waited until she heard footsteps on the stairs, trying to work out by the tread who it might be before she opened the door.

It was not her landlord, that much she could tell at once. There was no third footfall made by his cane that always accompanied him. The footsteps were purposeful and confident, but seemed somehow… irregular - different than what she would expect from such a gait. As they drew nearer, she could barely make out through the solid wood of the front door, a slight rustle, like… paper or plastic. She tried to look through the spy hole as the footsteps came to a halt outside of her door, and before the knock sounded, but she could see little other than a shock of red hair.

She opened the door almost the moment the knock came.

“Maggie!” she exclaimed, and the other woman smiled, though her eyes were serious. “Would you like to come in? I can make us some tea.”

“Another time, maybe,” Maggie answered. “I have t’ get back to ma brothers, but… I wanted you to have this.” As she spoke she reached to the shadowed corner of the stairwell, and picked up an over-sized, zipped up cover that looked well stuffed with whatever was inside. “I was thinking on what I said, and that ye really should go to the Festival, and… well… It’s the oddest thing. I kept this in my closet for as long as I can remember, but, well, I didnae ever want to bring it out until now, but now is definitely the time, and because of you; _for_ you.”

She held up the bag and carefully unzipped perhaps six inches of the zipper’s length. Even in the dim light, Belle could see its beauty, and she gasped. The top of the dress was a delicate fold of lace and sequins that shone even in the poor lighting with a kind of beauty that Belle had only ever dreamed. The bodice - what she could see of it - looked fitted and was embroidered in the same ornate way that matched the lace.

“I… No…” she stammered, “I can’t take that.”

“You can, and ye will,” Maggie said in a tone that brooked no argument or compromise. “Ye don’t wannae end up like _me_ , now. So you’ll go, in this dress to the Miner’s Day Festival, and ye’ll show the likes o’ the mayor that you’re more than just a maid and—”

“You _heard_ that?” Belle felt mortified that anyone other than she had heard the insult Mayor Mills had thrown at her.

“Aye, and more beside,” Maggie said. “So it’s about time that ye proved them all wrong.”

She raised an expectant eyebrow, but Belle latched on to what she had said at first and asked.

“What more?” She knew she shouldn’t ask; that it would ramp up her anxiety and lack of confidence, even though the fact that she was running the library in Storybrooke was enough to dispel even the most self deprecating of lies she told herself. “What more have you heard.”

“Enough tae know that Gold’s right and ye must step out frae behind that meek, scrawny wee librarian image ye seem tae fight t’ keep.”

“He _said_ that?”

Maggie merely raised her eyebrow still further, and held out the dress again in Belle’s direction.

“There’s a cloak that goes with the dress, for warmth when evening comes, and I’ll expect t’ see ye dancin’ like the other single girls.”

Belle took her own turn to raise an eyebrow, thinking to herself that she was hardly a girl, not any more, if she had ever truly been one. Taking a deep breath, she reached out and took the garment bag from Maggie’s hands.

“Good on ye,” Maggie grinned. “I have tae get back to ma brothers now, but… We’ll see ye at the Festival.”

In spite of her lingering reservations, Belle felt a little flush of excitement begin to stir in the pit of her stomach.

It _definitely_ seemed as though Storybrooke was looking out for her.


	39. Invitation

Even before Belle managed to close the door, Maggie had hurried away down the stairs and was out of sight a moment later. Shaking her head, Belle turned from the door, garment bag in hand and carefully, almost holding her breath, unzipped it fully.

If the dress had been beautiful in the dim light of the stairwell, it was utterly stunning in the full lighting of the apartment, and almost before she realized it, the possibility of attending the Miner’s Festival - which prior to that moment she was almost adamant that she would not - became something real, something desired and something which she truly wanted. What better way, as Maggie had outright told her, to prove that she belonged in Storybrooke, and was more than the mousy little librarian everyone believed her to be.

Before she could second guess herself, and go and change her mind, Belle took the dress through to the bedroom. _No harm in just… trying it on_ , she thought to herself.

She carefully lifted the dress and cloak from the bag feeling the fine, soft fabric against her fingertips as she did. In proper lighting, though the dress at first appeared white, there was ultimately a barely detectable, almost aqua overtone, as if the strands of the woven fabric reflected that color of light. The sequins shone like tiny diamonds and the embroidery was so fine that she could not imagine anyone having done such work, and yet it was unequivocally obvious that it had not been produced by machine.

Then her heart sank with sudden disappointment as she decided there was no way that the dress was going to fit. Maggie was taller and far more slender than she. If she could get the dress to fasten it would be _far_ too long. Still, something in her was determined that she _would_ try it on, and she began undressing to nothing but her panties, and then stepped into the dress and with the practiced ease of someone used to wearing dresses that zipped at the back, pulled up the zipper and then wriggled a little to settle the fine silk ball gown into place. It fit _flawlessly,_ and in her bare feet the bottom edge barely curled against the carpet, which meant that in heels of a modest one or two inches, it would fall just as perfectly. It was as if it had been _made_ for her.

She slipped on some appropriate shoes and turned first one way, and then the other, watching as the full skirts of the dress swished with her movement, and came to settle again. Then, facing the mirror once more, she looked at herself up along the length of the bodice, the way it hugged her curves, ending modestly enough to _just_ reveal the top most hint of her cleavage, and leaving her shoulders entirely bare. There were sleeves though, which were fitted, and yet comfortable - not too tight even beneath the arms, where they joined to the top of the dress. The lower half of the sleeves were overlaid with a fine, sheer lace, almost veil-like that hung to her mid thighs when her arms were bent at the elbow.

It truly was an utterly beautiful dress. She bit her lip, worried that if she went to the festival in it she would be completely overdressed and end up the laughing stock of the town. Then again, she countered herself, she considered Maggie to be, tentatively, a friend, and didn’t believe she would play such a cruel trick on her, besides which, hadn’t Doctor Whale said that everyone dressed in their finest clothes?

“Do the brave things, Belle,” she said softly to herself, and again turned full circle; once and once again, feeling the dress as light as air moving around her. On the third turn, however, she stopped dead as she caught sight of Mister Gold, standing in the doorway. As she saw him - blushing scarlet as she did - his expression turned to one of abject apology, and he began to stumble over an explanation of his presence.

“Uh… forgive me, I…” he began, taking a half step back as though he meant to turn and run. “I… I was passing and I noticed the outside door was ajar,” his voice, though flustered at first, was soft, and grew in confidence as he made his explanation. “I began to worry that something may be wrong, especially as there were no lights on in the library.”

“I… I closed early,” she explained, still blushing.

He nodded, “I realize that now, but… when I came up, your front door was open too,” he gestured behind himself to where the front door was situated, “so I… I promise you, I’m not the kind of landlord to—”

He broke off when Belle covered her face with her hands for a moment, her blush renewing, along with a strange, tickling, pulling sensation, low in her belly.

“Thank you,” she said eventually, before she lowered her hands, finding his explanation genuine and understanding how the doors had been left unfastened, with Maggie in a hurry to return to her brothers, and her own excitement to try on the dress. “It… was good of you to be concerned. I’m simply embarrassed to have been caught… twirling around like a school girl anticipating her first prom.”

He offered her a smile, and then gestured, still a little awkwardly, toward her.

“It suits you,” he said quietly, his voice a little rough, as though with emotion. “Will you be going to the Miner’s Day Festival then?”

“What,” she said in a tone that belied her lingering embarrassment, and attempted to snark her way back to a more comfortable state of equilibrium, “in this old thing?” She shook her head and said, “Not at all. This is the kind of thing I _always_ wear when I’m going to lounge in my apartment all night, reading a book and drinking tea all by myself.”

She gave him a grin then, one he mirrored as though she were suddenly speaking his language, and the two of them chuckled together, the warmth of their shared laughter dispelling the lingering awkwardness.

“It truly _does_ suit you, Miss Marchland,” he offered then, “as if by donning this dress you are… shedding your belief that you don’t belong here - in Storybrooke.”

“Well,” she murmured, “It would seem that there are enough people around that would like me to believe that.”

As she spoke, she smoothed the front of the dress over her, and half turned enough to take one more look at herself in the mirror. Perhaps she had been right after all. Perhaps it was too much. Her hands twitched as though to reach behind herself for the zipper.

“You don’t need to listen to them,” Gold’s soft voice sounded, closer this time, almost at her shoulder. She turned, her hands still half raised, and without thinking gave them willingly to his as he took them into his own. His fingers were warm where they passed small caresses over the backs of her hands. “You should just show them how wrong they are,” he suggested in that gravelly, soft voice of his. “Perhaps you would… do me the honor of accompanying me to the Minder’s Day Festival, Miss Marchland?”

She swallowed hard at the deep, dark invitation in his eyes. “I should be delighted,” she whispered.


	40. Revelations

As soon as Mister Gold left to go and get himself ready for the Festival, Belle immediately dissolved into a nervous mess that was not like her, and that she couldn’t explain. She’d had plenty of interactions with Mister Gold before, so… why be nervous now, especially when much of the time he was sarcastic and obnoxious. Perhaps this was the difference then, that _this_ time he had not been either and had, in fact, been pleasant and complimentary.

She did not have too much time to worry about it. She decided she wanted to look her best, to go out there and, as Maggie had said, show the citizens of Storybrooke, and specifically the Mayor, that she was not a little maid, no servant, but someone who _belonged_.

She quickly showered, donned soft lacy underwear that made her feel somehow special, and then set to applying make up, and fixing her hair. The make up was subtle, and the shades she chose enhanced the blue of her eyes. The style of the dress screamed for her to pile her hair atop her head and leave her neck long, elegant, and bare - as her shoulders would be, so she spent the most time making sure she got her hair just so. By the time she was done, and was slipping her feet into shoes with a heel just high enough to keep the hem of the dress barely in contact with the floor, the clock on the nightstand told her it was almost the time that Gold had said he would return.

She expected he would be nothing if not punctual, and sure enough, right on time, the door buzzer sounded.

Not wanting to appear to be too eager, Belle took her time with the cloak, and found that it was possibly a mistake to have done so. The clasp was of an unfamiliar type, and no matter how she manipulated it, she could not get it to remain fastened. Once when she thought she had it, the garment simply slipped back off her shoulders. After another couple of tries it became frustrating and threatened to make her truly late rather than allowing her to appear casual. She decided that the evening was nice enough and that she could probably manage without the cloak and so she made her way carefully down the stairs to the outside door.

When she set eyes on Gold, what remained of her breath flew away, and she thought her head would spin. He was wearing a gold brocade jacket with a high collar, beneath which a white shirt was nestled under a vest that matched the jacket, but which was mostly hidden by the sheer, cream colored cravat he wore, perfectly tied, with lace edging that set off the outfit perfectly. He wore soft leather, thigh high boots over tan pants. He looked every inch a fairytale prince.

“You look lovely, my dear,” he said softly, and she saw him swallow as he took in _her_ appearance, but then he added, “But do you not have a cloak? The night can be chill where we will be.”

She blushed, and looked a little sheepish, as she confessed. “There is one, but it has a strange kind of clasp; one I’ve never seen before, and… well… I couldn’t manage to get it to stay fastened.”

He gave her a gentle smile that was without any kind of criticism or mockery and said, “Why don’t you go and fetch the cloak, and if you’ll allow, I’ll help you fasten it.”

Her blush deepened, and an almost shy smile crossed her face, before she murmured her thanks, and returned to the apartment to get the cloak and bring it back down the stairs.

“May I?” Gold asked as he reached for the cloak and when she allowed him to take it, he shook it out and settled it carefully about her bare shoulders. The backs of his fingers barely brushed against her skin as he smoothed the fabric into place, but she felt as though fire shot through the whole of her body at the light touch, like the prickle of pins and needles.

Then he took the two halves of the clasp gently into his hands, the warmth of his fingers resting against the front of her collar bones. As he moved to almost weave the two sides of the clasp to fasten, the movement of his hand sent little bolts of tingling warmth right to her core.

Her legs began to feel as though they were made of marshmallow, and she suddenly found herself wanting nothing more than to run her own fingers over the fine fabric of his coat. She took a breath, trying to steady herself. What should she do? Could she trust herself?

Just as everything seemed about to come to a head, Mister Gold stepped back, his touch releasing her from its spell.

“Shall we?” he said with a smile, and gestured toward the Cadillac that was parked not too far away.

“Thank you,” she said, equally as softly, and then took his offered arm as he began to walk them toward the vehicle.

As they drew closer, she noticed Aspen in the back of the car, and couldn’t help but chuckle. Gold looked her way, and she asked in a soft note of teasing, “Does he enjoy the Miners’ Day Festival too?”

Gold laughed softly. “I would not dare to make him miss it,” he quipped. “A sure way to make him bite the hand that feeds him.”

He opened the door for her, and she heard Aspen’s tail begin to thump out a rhythm on the back seat as she climbed inside.

“Surely not,” she said as he climbed into the driver’s side after making certain she was secure. “I can’t imagine a sweet dog like Aspen ever biting _anyone_.”

“You’d be surprised,” he said, as he pulled off to begin their journey. “He knows who likes him, and who doesn’t.”

Belle looked over at him in disbelief. “How could anyone not like him?”

“Milah hated him,” Gold answered, and then cleared his throat as if in realization of having said something wrong, and then before Belle had a chance to reply, he said, “May I ask you something.”

“I think you are catching my habits,” she teased, and raised an eyebrow when he looked over at her in momentary confusion. “May I ask?” she said.

He chuckled again at that, and nodded his understanding.

“I… was just wondering,” he began, speaking slowly as though choosing his words carefully. “After I so… rudely interrupted your meeting with Mister Guest—”

Before he could even ask whatever question was in his mind Belle blurted out, “It didn’t work out. Everyone was right about him, and I was… just naive and too trusting, just like I was warned.”

“Miss Marchland,” he said and she thought he sounded apologetic, “You shouldn’t blame yourself. Whatever happened it was not your fault. No amount of anyone warning you of anything can change what you must discover for yourself. You did _nothing_ wrong.”

“But you don’t like him all the same,” she accused softly and without any real heat behind her words.

“I admit, I have always had a bad feeling about Mister Guest, yes,” he said, “but really it is none of my business, and I’m prying. Forgive me.”

She offered him a smile, “No, it’s fine. Nothing to forgive.” She took a breath, and finally confessed. “Maggie told me a little about what happened with your wife… if anyone was prying, it was me.”

Gold glanced at her, his gaze steely, and she thought for a moment that she had offended him, until he said, “She was never happy here; never happy with me. We moved here for a new start when we discovered we were expecting our son, a little peace and quiet; a little decency after the deprivation all around us in Glasgow.”

“What happened?” she asked softly.

“It was never enough for her. Too quiet, everyone too far up in everyone else’s business. We tried to make it work, for Bae’s sake, but…”

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, and she genuinely was. She could almost feel the pain of his self deprecation.

He shook his head and continued, “…I was never enough either, so… she left.”

“That must have been hard,” she said, and offered an expression of genuine sympathy when he turned and glanced at her again.

“Not as hard as you might think,” he said, “Nor as it should have been. What was hard was that… I knew she had never really wanted children, wanted Bae… and yet, she took him with her.”

“And you have no visitation arrangement?” Suddenly she wanted to know more, to know _everything_ she could about this man whom, she realized, she had read _so_ wrongly in all of her encounters with him until now.

Gold scoffed bitterly. “Hard to make an arrangement with someone when they don’t want you to know where they’ve gone,” he said.

“That’s awful!”

“I sent out private investigators. The police weren’t interested, actually investigated _me_ for her disappearance, and when they couldn’t pin it on me, just let it go cold.” He chuckled as he looked over at her again, and caught sight of the way her mouth was hanging open in disbelief. “It’s how I got a good portion of my reputation as a monster, I think.”

“But… but your family?” she protested.

“Never have found out what happened to Bae, though I’m still looking - following up every lead I get. He’d be grown by now.”

She didn’t like the way he was referring to his son in a kind of past tense that showed his fears that his son, like the boy’s mother, might no longer be living - at least if the rumors Maggie had told her were true.

“How old?” she asked, softly.

“Twenty-eight years,” he said with another glance at her. “A man older than I was when I had him.”

“And his mother?”

“She passed,” he said, then added quickly, “And before you ask, I don’t know how. All I know is that after she left me, she fell in with some… scoundrel or another. Then a few years ago one of the investigators found out about her passing. Now it seems said scoundrel is… sniffing around.”

“The man I saw you with at the Mayor’s ball?”

“The same.”

“Jefferson said he was a nasty piece of work,” she admitted.

“He’d be right.”

“There must be… something you can do to stop him from bothering you?”

Gold didn’t answer, and fell into silence for a long while, before he said quietly, with a kind of dry amusement in his tone, “So… now you know more about me than most people in Storybrooke, Miss Marchland.”

He drew the car into a parking space amid an already crowded lot that stood beside what looked like an open field that had been transformed into a festival ground, and she realized that in speaking with Gold, hearing him unfolding the tale of a part of his life that was _so_ personal to him, she had missed the entire journey and had no clue where she was in relation to town. He stopped the engine and looked over to her.

“Cat got your tongue?” he asked, with a hint of sarcasm to match the wry, defensive expression on his face.

She raised and eyebrow then, and said, “I promise not to hold anything against you.” After a moment she offered a smile, and said, “And it’s Belle.”


	41. Memory and Vision

Gold offered her his arm as they stepped away from the Cadillac, and as if in some strange court in a bygone era the two walked toward the entrance to the Festival Field. As they approached, Belle tried to take everything in; the lights hung in small strings of every shade imaginable, shining in the evening even though it would be many hours until sunset. The sounds of children’s laughter as they ran, alive and free, between colorful tents and the legs of indulgent adults. Everywhere the low murmur of voices joined in conversation and in celebration, in companionship beside tables laden with wares of every kind imaginable, over which spread colorful awnings hung with lights.

On the breeze, light for now, the myriad scents whirled like dervishes in the air, bringing the deliciousness of cooking meats and vegetables to Belle’s senses, making her realize how hungry she was, and the sweetness of juices, fruit and the tang of alcohol, how thirsty. In even more subtle intermittent waves, Belle was sure she caught the scent of sweet incenses, and rarer yet, deeper scents that made her yearn deeply, her breath catching as she felt the slow coiling of arousal hint as to its presence in her belly.

“This is…” she swallowed hard and glanced at Gold, whose smile was warm and knowing, “…amazing, and… well, somewhat pagan.”

“You’ll find that much of Storybrooke and many of its residents have their roots in other times than the present,” he replied, but hadn’t the chance to say more as they were both interrupted by the loud, excited cry given by Leroy, the Gatekeeper to the town’s festival.

“You’re here!” he called out, and stepped forward without any heed to Gold’s presence to wrap Belle in a sudden and consuming hug before holding her out to arms’ length. “And look at you!”

She couldn’t help but let out a short, but happy, peal of laughter and looked at Leroy in his finery, which for him consisted of a linen shirt beneath a padded vest, and brown pants tucked into knee length boots; no shining brocade for him, but it felt right. It _looked_ right in a way she couldn’t explain.

Then, as if remembering himself, Leroy cleared his throat and stepped back, picking up two goblets from a nearby table.

“And Mister Gold,” he said, “Welcome to the Miner’s Day Festival!”

He held out the goblets, and Belle saw Gold gesture to her to take one, before he, himself accepted the offered goblet, and murmured a response to the man in front of him.

“May the coming year be as prosperous as this,” he said.

“Right on, brother!” Leroy responded, and Belle almost choked on the sip of sticky, sweet liquid in the goblet. _Never_ would she had believed anyone would _dare_ to refer in such a way to Gold, but it seemed this one evening, Mister Gold did not in fact mind such a thing, and with a nod to Leroy, downed the contents of his cup, before handing it back to him.

Taking her cue from Mister Gold, Belle also drank down the delicious mead and handed back her cup, before she took Gold’s arm once more, and Leroy allowed them both to pass into the festival grounds.

“This has grown considerably since it’s early days,” Gold told her softly, leaning closer so that she could hear. “To the point where we had to move it out here to accommodate… everything.”

“It’s amazing,” she said, her head turning as though on a swivel, and Gold chuckled again.

“Go ahead,” he nodded toward the grounds themselves. “Take a proper look around if you’d like. I don’t want to hold you back, and if you turn your head much more, you’ll be giving yourself whiplash.”

Belle chuckled, and then asked, “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“Of course not,” he said with a smile, “and when you’re done rambling, you can come and find me. Most likely I’ll be in the open space by the fire.”

“Thank you,” she said, her face cracking into a grin that she hadn’t worn since she was a child, at least as far as she could remember.

“Go on,” he said, “Enjoy yourself. That’s what this is all about, after all.”

She squeezed his arm, and then before she could allow herself to feel guilty about wanting to see _everything_ , she stepped away, into the crowds, and began to look around at all that was on offer.

The very first stall she came to was the ones run by the nuns, and it seemed they were selling an array of candles; home made, or presumably made at the convent, they smelled strongly of honey and essential oils. There was an information sheet taped to the blue fabric that covered the wood of the cart that made their stall, and Belle paused to read it.

_Traditionally, the nuns at our convent exchanged candles with the Miners for coal to help power our boilers and keep the convent warm. It was through this exchange that Miner’s Day Festival began._

She smiled at the sister behind the cart, a beautiful woman with wavy, reddish-brown hair and a wide smile.

“We can save one for you,” the nun said, “If you’re like?”

“I’d like that,” Belle said. “You know what? Put me down for two.”

“You’re very kind.” The other woman reached for a pen and clip board that were behind the candles. “My name is Sister Astrid.”

“Belle,” she answered.

“Oh, the librarian,” Astrid’s smile was almost dazzling. “It’s wonderful that it’s open again, truly. You must be very busy.”

Astrid handed the clip board to Belle for her to fill in her details, and as she wrote, Belle answered, “Most days. There’s certainly been a lot of interest.”

“That’s _wonderful!_ ” Astrid exclaimed as Belle handed back the clipboard. “Well… thank you for this. We’ll get them to you as soon as we can.”

“Thank you,” Belle said returning the nun’s genuine smile, before she excused herself.

“Enjoy the rest of the evening,” Astrid called after her.

Belle lost herself for a while, in the many carts and stalls; the people of Storybrooke selling their wares. So many people in town seemed to have special skills about which Belle had no idea, it opened her eyes to the sense of old world community that must exist. She’d known Storybrooke was special, but she hadn’t realized quite how much. Until now. Marco with his carvings, and August with paper made by hand - and Belle made a mental note so seek him out after the festival; Granny, of course, with her pies and baked goods… Only a few she knew by name. All manner of crafts and services were on offer, and she delighted in each and every one.

She had no idea how long she had wandered, but eventually her feet took her, by instinct - or perhaps by unconscious notice that most everyone seemed to be drifting toward the open space, where a huge bonfire - safely cordoned off - had been built and stood ready to light. She spotted Gold, and he smiled as she approached, and once she was near enough, handed her what looked like a tall iced lemon drink.

“I thought you might be thirsty after all that wandering,” he said softly.

“I am, yes,” she said, and took a sip. Flavor exploded on her tongue, lemon and flowers and honey all at once and the cool of the ice in the drink made it all the more refreshing. “This is delicious,” she said, “What is it?”

“Elderflower lemon punch,” Gold answered. “Old Missus Souter and her children make it _every_ year. One of the highlights of the festival for me.”

“Well, it’s just perfect for a hot summer evening,” she said. “And if it’s only _one_ of the highlights, what are the others?”

Gold chuckled, and the sound went right through her. “Can’t give away _all_ my secrets, now can I, Miss Marchland.” He smiled, a secretive wait-and-see kind of smile, and Belle shivered.

It wasn’t long before the assembled throng, the gathered mass of Storybrooke’s citizens, began mixing and mingling in the space, exchanging greetings, some embracing like long lost friends, and when the music began, so too did the dancing.

Folk tunes filled the air with melody and laughter, and the dancers let themselves dance freely, even though they seemed all somehow in perfect synchrony; a true ceilidh, full of joy. It was only as she looked around at the whirling colors of the beautiful dresses, and the suits worn by the men that she realized that one notable person was conspicuous by her absence: Mayor Mills. She turned to ask Gold if the Mayor ever came to the events, only to find the space behind her, where he had been, quite empty.

She frowned, and looked around, but could not see him anywhere. It was as though he had suddenly vanished out of existence. She did, however, see someone else, and smiled as she saw Paige sitting with some of the other children - the ones who were not dancing their own little jigs in a separate space from the adults. She wandered that way.

“Paige,” she greeted her, “You made it. Are you having fun?”

Paige made a face and said, “I told you, I hate this thing. It’s stupid, but I have to come because Miss Trude convinced my mum that it would be good for me, and besides, they need someone older to look after the little kids.”

“Well, I would have thought that’s a _good_ thing,” Belle said, trying not to frown at the mention of the neighbor’s name. “Taking care of the younger ones.”

“Yeah, _that_ is, it’s just all the rest of it,” Paige sighed, “All the grown ups dancing and being crazy… drinking and then… well…” she shrugged and blushing didn’t say anything more for a while, until she said, “I like it when night finally comes, and it’s good to be able to stay awake late.”

Belle smiled. “And is your mother here?” she asked.

Paige shook her head, and said, “Miss Trude brought me. She’s out there somewhere.” She gestured to the whirling mass.

“What about your father?” Belle asked, and as she said it, realized that Paige had never mentioned her father in all the time she had been coming to the library.

Paige shook her head again, a sad expression of longing crossing her face. “No,” was all she said, then, “Shouldn’t you be _dancing?_ ”

Belle started to open her mouth to tell Paige that she didn’t know the steps and that she wasn’t much for dancing anyway, but a familiar voice sounded behind her.

“She’s right, you know?”

She turned to see Jefferson in a top hat, and long tail coat, a vibrant purple scarf tied around his neck over a shirt in pink beneath the a slightly darker pink vest.

“And may I say, you’re looking lovely, this evening, Belle,” he added with a bow as he swept off his hat, behind her, she heard Paige giggle.

“Thank you, Jefferson,” she said, and eyed his now outstretched hand as though it would bite her.

“Come,” he said stretching out his hand again. “You’ll want to be out there when night begins to fall. Trust me.”

She didn’t miss the slight shift of his eyes to look over her shoulder at the children, and she glanced behind her to see Paige staring back, and the other children sitting with her all but open mouthed with wonder at the mention of nightfall.

“You’re up to something,” she accused softly, looking back at Jefferson.

“Isn’t everyone?” he asked without a hint of guile.

A third time he stretched out his hand, and this time she took it, allowing him to lead her to where everyone was dancing, spinning and turning, and without a moment’s hesitation he took her in a dancer’s hold and joined in with the merriment, leading her, somehow almost flawlessly through the steps and turns.

She couldn’t help but laugh, becoming giddy with it, and with the atmosphere of the evening that grew ever later, and maybe… perhaps… whatever was in that punch that Gold had gotten for her.

As she thought of Gold, she began to wonder where he had disappeared to once more. She turned her head from her random efforts to search the crowd, meaning to ask Jefferson if he had seen him, an as she did, a huge smile broke on his face, so wide that it was almost dazzling. With a final spin, he let go of her hand, and sent her spinning out toward the edge of the dancing revelers, toward a slight rise in the field, almost a hillside.

There, she stumbled to a stop just as the music faded away into a crackling of fire, and looking down toward the field she saw seven men, barely recognizing Leroy among them, who approached the huge bonfire with burning brands in their hands.

“The night has come at last!” They called out in unison.

“And so,” One of the nuns, whom she recognized as the Mother Superior stood at the fireside, and answered the shout of the men, “Thanks to you all, we shall all be graced with light.”

At her answer, the men thrust their flaming torches into the base of the bonfire, and with an almost explosive crackle, the fire burst into life.

Belle gasped, a solitary echo of the collective exclamation given off by Storybrooke. It was a magical moment, truly magical; special in a way she could not explain, not even to herself.

A moment later, colorful stars bejeweled the darkening sky in blue and red and golden light. Belle was momentarily transfixed. Then, she felt a heat at her back, and strong, warm fingers closed around her own, caressing softly before their fingers intertwined.

Fireworks paled, and the world slowed, became indistinct against the presence of the man behind her. She _knew_ this man… loved him with the very essence of herself. It flashed through her like a pulse, and a strong, soft breeze lifted the wisps of her hair that had escaped their bindings, and she _remembered_.

_Rumplestiltskin… “Why did you come back?” I wasn’t going to, but then… something changed my mind…. A kiss. “Uh… what’s happening?” I’m coming back, Rumple. “Isn’t that sweet. Still fighting for true love, even to the bitter end.”_

The visions, memories came thick and fast, gathering momentum, but like a video played in reverse.

_”I’m not a coward, dearie. It’s quite simple really… my power… means more to me than you.” No, no it doesn’t. You just don’t think I can love you. “Shut up.” This means it’s true love. “Shut the hell up!” But… town? You trust me to come back? “Oh, no. I expect I’ll never see you again.”_

Sensations and emotions bubbled inside of her, everything coming so thick and fast that she could make no sense of it, and yet, in her heart it made perfect sense. Everything spun, backward and forward, out of order, filling her with an ache in her heart, a longing through the whole of her, her eyes hot with tears she could neither shed nor keep from falling.

_”What made you choose to come here with me?” Heroism. Sacrifice. “I want something a bit more… special.” I'm so sorry but, uh... it's.. it's chipped. “My price… is her.” I think you were lonely. I mean, any man would be lonely. “It’s just a cup.” So… what are you going to do with me? “It’s forever, dearie.” No one decides my fate but me! “Who told you that? Who knows that!” I will go, with you, fore—_

Suddenly breathless, Belle snatched her hand from his, stumbled as the spinning world fell over her. She sucked in a breath, the world settling. Trembling, she let out a shuddering breath. _What’s happening?_

She shook her head, barely glanced at Gold, at the disbelief and pain on his face, but behind it all something else, something… ephemeral. Then, unable to steady the too fast beat of her heart, she turned and fled.

Blinded, to where she was going, she collided with someone, and barely heard Jefferson call her name. She didn’t stop. She needed space. She needed air, but if she had looked back, she would have seen Jefferson and Gold exchanging agonized glances.


	42. Secrets and Lies

She couldn’t have said when it was that her rapid footsteps became a jog, became a full out run, nor when she stopped. She leaned on her knees, breathless, her heart pounding and not just from the run. The thoughts and images she had seen, the things she had felt still swirled in her mind, making no sense, except perhaps that she really _had_ imbibed too much of the local brew.

She shook her head. She didn’t _feel_ drunk, she just couldn’t explain anything she’d seen the moment Gold took her hand.

She let herself sink to the ground, and wrapped her cloak around herself, taking deep breaths to try and get control of her rising emotions. After everything that had happened with Hunter, she didn’t need to be getting lost in another fantasy.

_Find something real_ That’s what Ruby had said, and that was what she needed to do, but… she had _always_ felt some kind of pull, some kind of connection between herself and Gold.

“No,” she told herself. “That _doesn’t_ happen. That kind of thing only happens in _fairy_ tales!”

She pursed her lips, realizing she was rambling to herself, to keep from repeating herself over and over again; made herself sit _very_ still, taking deep breaths. The last thing she needed now was for her anxiety to return, not after all this time of being well.

She sat for what seemed like hours before the chill of the evening began to seep through her cloak, but at least her heart was beating more steadily, and her breathing was calm. She looked up at the sky, still peppered with stars, the only light for miles, besides the flickering orange and red of the bonfire, somehow still burning.

Standing, she looked back to the area, and saw the people of Storybrooke caught in their festival revelry next to, even _around_ that bonfire, and somehow felt apart from the community again, as though what little inroad she had made as the librarian had been shattered in the moment that she ran from Gold. That apart from _him_ she was apart from _them_.

It made no sense to her, and so she did what she would always do in such a time. She stood, wrapped her cloak around her, and began to walk.

When she arrived back at the field that was the festival ground, it was to pick her way carefully and quietly through the individuals and couples who, by then, lay wrapped in their blankets and coats, curled up on the ground that had been their dance floor, and their community hall - the invisible shelter still spread over them.

A few were still awake, sitting up in small groups, leaning against one another and murmuring softly among themselves, some still in their cups. One or two offered her a silent wave of greeting as she passed them, which she returned with as much half-hearted enthusiasm as she could.

Still further across the field, a little way down toward the road, away from the bonfire, she saw that long trestle tables had been set up, and a small troop of people were carrying dishes and platters to the table, some filled with steaming, hot, breakfast foods, others overflowing with fruit, and cheese and pastries. There was coffee too. Even across the narrowing distance between her and the table, she could smell the aroma beginning to fill her senses, catalyzing her approach to full wakefulness, although she was bone weary and heart-sore, and although she was still on rocky ground with her emotions, she had made a decision: until she could make sense of everything that had happened that evening, she would keep her distance from Mister Gold.

“Miss Belle!”

The soft voice calling to her as though trying to attract her attention without waking anyone else, drew her towards one end of the table, where Paige was frantically waving her way.

“Paige,” she exclaimed, worry filling her, “Are you _still_ here, _still_ awake?”

Paige giggled, shaking her head and pointing down to the parking lot, and a large van parked there close to the gate. “I slept a little bit, and now I’m back. It’s my job to serve breakfast. Why don’t you get some while it’s still hot? Eggs and bacon is just not the same when it’s cold or luke warm.”

“No, you’re right. It really isn’t.” Belle said, eying the girl seriously in the dim, slow dawning light, to look for evidence of shadows beneath her eyes. They were there, of course, they always were, but not any more pronounced than usual. “Just a small plate then,” she said, as much to give the girl something to do as that she really wanted breakfast.

What she wanted was to go home, soak herself in a nice hot bath, fall into bed, and sleep until noon or later, that would do just as well. She doubted many businesses would be open the day after the festival, so she saw no reason why the library shouldn’t be the same.

She took the paper plate that Paige handed to her and smiled her thanks. It was not exactly piled _high_ with food, but there was certainly more than she thought she could eat, at least, until she started. As soon as the first morsel passed her lips, her taste buds came to life, and reminded her, and her stomach, that she hadn’t eaten since long before dinner time the previous day.

“I watched you dancing. You looked very good, very pretty,” Paige said, “and I watched you standing with Mister Gold when they lit the bonfire and the fireworks went up.”

In spite of herself, Belle blushed.

“Jefferson dances very well,” she said in an attempt to steer Paige away from the subject of Mister Gold. “I wouldn’t have been half so good without his help.”

Paige made a face, and Belle raised an eyebrow in query. Paige looked away, biting her lip and mumbled, “My neighbor says he’s not all there.” She tapped her head. “Says I shouldn’t be around him and people like him.”

“Jefferson?” Belle asked in shock at the girl’s words. “No!” She took several deep breaths to calm herself, to push away the shock, and then, hardly any less irritably, “And what does it have to do with Miss Trude _anyway?_ ”

Paige shrugged. “She looks out for me… sometimes,” she said.

Belle sighed, and already feeling drenched with concern over Paige’s words, decided to jump in the pool with both feet.

“Paige,” she began, “can I ask you…? Is everything all right at home?”

“Of course it is,” Paige answered, just a little bit too quickly for Belle’s liking. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

Belle held up a placating hand, watching Paige’s eyes go from startled to hard and defensive. “It’s all right, I just wondered. You talk so much about your neighbor, and I see her so often that I thought—”

“Well you thought wrong,” Paige cut her off. “Everything is fine.”

Belle nodded once, and with a sigh said, “All right,” even more convinced now that there was something going on that she didn’t know about. “Just… If you ever need help, you know that you can come to me, right?”

“I..” Paige began with a sigh, and looked down at her foot that was excavating a small hole in the dirt with the toe of her sneakers, “I know,” she said at last, “and I will.”

An awkward silence ensued, so Belle tried to eat a little more of the breakfast, almost choking on a piece of bacon when Paige asked, “What about you and Mister Gold. He’s so _old_. Are you really going to try and be with him?”

“Oh, Paige, no… I…”

“But that’s what people _do_ when they stand by the bonfire together,” Paige said, as if either confused or dismayed.

“Well, no, we’re just—” she broke off. What _were_ they to one another? They argued more than they ever had pleasant conversations.

“Friends?” Paige suggested.

“More like, acquaintances,” Belle said, “Do you know that word?”

“Yeah,” Paige said with a frown. “It’s like someone you know, right? But aren’t friends with yet?”

Belle smiled. “That’s right,” she said. “You can be polite together, do things together, but you don’t know one another very well. Well, that’s me and Mister Gold.”

“No,” Paige argued. “That’s not what the Miner’s Festival Bonfire is for!”

“Paige…”

“It’s _more!_ ”

Belle was struck to silence by the girl’s outburst. She didn’t understand it, and from the expression that came to Paige’s face as Belle’s silence stretched out, neither did she… not for a long time, until her gaze dropped and she mumbled an apology.

“I think, perhaps, we’ve both been awake for far too long,” she said softly. “And need to get some sleep.”

As if Belle’s words held some kind of magic, Paige yawned.

“Maybe,” she said in agreement.

Belle nodded, and handed the now empty breakfast plate to Paige, who tossed it into the trash can behind her. Then with shame coloring her voice, Paige asked, “Can I still come to help in the library, Miss Belle?”

Belle wished that the table wasn’t between them because in that moment she wanted nothing more than to wrap Paige up in a huge hug and reassure her that there was no ill will between them.

“Of _course_ you can,” she said instead, with as much feeling as she could. “I look forward to the days when you come.” Paige smiled at that, just a little, and then Belle added, “Just promise me you won’t stay here too late. You need some proper rest.”

“I promise,” Paige said, and then waved with a fondness that set Belle’s heart lurching as she walked away, and down the path toward where she could get a cab to take her home.

Unfortunately, when she reached the parking lot, she could see no such thing, and even though she had her phone with her, she had no idea as to a number to dial to summon one. She stood staring down the road wondering how far it was to town, when a voice behind her startled her so much that she almost stumbled.

A strong, warm hand closed around her arm to steady her as a matching voice said, “Do you need a ride home?”

“Jefferson,” she identified the speaker, “You scared me half to death!”

“Sorry,” he said, “That wasn’t my intention. I just saw you leaving in a hurry, and I worried.”

“That’s very good of you,” she told him, looking up at the half smile on his face, “But I’m fine.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” he told her, “but still, the offer of a ride home still stands.”

“Oh, but I wouldn’t want to drag you away from the festivities,” she said, but Jefferson shook his head.

“Nothing for me here,” he said with a sigh and added almost absently, “Not yet anyways.”

Belle frowned, but he offered nothing more, and she was tired and overdone with mystery for one night.

“Then thank you,” she said. “That would be kind.”

She followed Jefferson to his car, and he saw her safely into the passenger seat before rounding the car to take the driver’s side. They drove in silence for a while, each apparently lost in their own thoughts, until Jefferson cleared his throat and said, “Don’t worry too much about the things that Gr— Paige said.”

Belle turned her head to look at him, but he was staring straight ahead, and she could have _sworn_ that she saw moisture gathered in his eyes.

“I’m sure she was just… caught up in the tradition of everything and doesn’t realize that sometimes… thing change.”

“It’s all right,” Belle said still frowning and trying to take in Jefferson’s expression, but the hard line of his lips and the concentration furrowing his brow as he watched the road gave little away. “I was just… surprised, I suppose, by her vehemence, her passion.”

Jefferson barked a laugh, though Belle detected little humor in it. “You’d be surprised,” was all he said.

They lapsed into silence for the rest of the drive, until they pulled up outside of the library, and Jefferson got out to help her from the car.

“Thank you,” she said, “I don’t know how I would have gotten home if you hadn’t come along.”

He smiled. “Go and get some rest,” he said. “It will all look better in the morning.”

Belle frowned. “Does it look bad now?”

“Goodnight, Belle,” he said, by way of the only answer Belle realized she was going to get. With a sigh she made her way up to the library apartment, and even the act of climbing the stairs made her rethink the idea to take a hot bath.

_To hell with it,_ she thought as she all but fell into bed. She could take a bath when she woke up.

It wasn’t long before sleep took her, and pulled her into dreams of castles and enchanted forests, and a strangely impish little man spinning at a wheel.


	43. Determination

In comparison to how long it took Belle to fall asleep the night before, it took her almost twice as long to wake the following morning. She felt as though she were prying her eyes open with a wet noodle as successful as she was, which wasn’t very, and although she had mentally promised herself a bath for this morning, she decided it would be more prudent to take a shower. One she hoped would wake her up.

She also decided on coffee and not tea as was her usual habit, and set the coffee pot to percolate before heading back to the bathroom. As she passed through the bedroom on the way, she caught sight of the dress, hanging from the dresser door, and everything from the night before came flooding back.

The dancing, the anticipation for the lighting of the fire; the sudden rush of light and heat as the bonfire lit, reaching for the stars that seemed to burst overhead as the fireworks flew skyward. The touch of hands - Golds and her own - and the absolute certainty in her heart, in her belly, that the flicker of thoughts and images, the nonsense that raced through her mind as memory, were absolutely true.

“No,” she told herself aloud, even stamping a foot as her eyes filled with tears. “This is ridiculous, it’s all rubbish!”

She tore herself away from the bedroom, from the sight of the dress and into the bathroom, shedding her night dress as if it caused offense and stepping into the shower even before the frigid water had begun to turn warm, then hot. The captive tears fell, and her body shook with sobs she didn’t understand.

“We never met,” she told herself through the sobs, “Not until I came to Storybrooke, how could _any_ of that…?”

She trailed off, standing under the cascade of water as she willed the thoughts away, as if she could slough them away with the soap she stripped from her body. She wouldn’t think about it any more. There were other, more practical; more worrying things she’d learned from Gold _before_ the events of the festival.

She snapped off the water, and grabbed the nearest towel as she stepped out and began to dry herself, looking around as she did at the apartment that she called home, and felt comfortable and _happy_ doing so. What would happen if the library apartment came to be owned by Jones? What would that mean? A less than forgiving landlord who would expect rent on the place separate from the rent she paid to Gold for the Library? Would he simply want her to leave and evict her, leaving her no place to go while he moved in his latest conquest? She had no idea where _that_ thought came from, but it felt very close to the truth, at least in her eyes.

It was as though everything were coming unraveled again, and this time she would have to leave Storybrooke and find a new start somewhere else. Though the thought made her belly lurch again, it might not be such a bad thing to put some distance between herself and Mister Gold after all, but… what if she didn’t want to?

She growled at herself as she toweled her hair dry and chased herself round and round in circles with her thoughts. She needed to keep busy. She needed to stop herself from over-thinking everything and so, almost on a whim, she decided that she _would_ open the library today after all, even if everywhere else stayed closed.

She wasn’t wrong about thinking that either. It was a bright, beautifully sunny day and so she propped the library doors open to give the place a good airing out. Through the opened doors as she stood at the circulation desk she could see the closed doors, and the lack of the usual foot traffic up and down the town streets. She opened the returns box, and checked in, repaired and shelved the books even before the first hour of the day was passed, and so her plan of keeping busy to prevent herself from thinking was scuppered even before it began.

She found herself standing at the circulation desk, idly making notes on a blank piece of paper, of all the places she might try to start over in much the same way that someone might doodle as their mind wandered. Most places were on the East coast, but a few were flung further afield, even to foreign countries.

“Miss Belle?”

The voice made her jump, and on instinct she dropped the pencil and screwed the sheet of paper into a ball in her hand, ashamed that she’d even been contemplating leaving Storybrooke, let alone making a list of where to go.

“Paige!” She gave the girl a smile, which the girl returned, but the smiled did not even get close to her eyes.

“Surprised you’re open today,” Paige said, and she even _sounded_ glum. “I can stay though, if you need me.” Belle shook her head, about to tell the girl that she really didn’t need the help today, but before she could utter a word of it, Paige went on. “I don’t mind the hard work, nor the dirty work, you know I don’t. I can—”

“Paige, it’s all right,” Belle told her kindly, and then came around the desk to gently cup her fingers around Paige’s cheek. “I know you’re an excellent worker, it’s not that I doubt that - ever. It’s just that there really isn’t anything to do. Even _I’m_ bored.” As if to both prove her words, and to hide what she’d been doing she held out her hand containing the crumpled paper and showed the ball of it to Paige before using both hands to be sure it couldn’t be easily opened and read, before tossing it into the trash can in the corner. “But you’re more than welcome to stay and read… if you’d like. Actually I’d like the company.”

Paige smiled, genuinely this time, and threw a hug around Belle’s waist before a murmured ‘thank you’ accompanied her footsteps toward the quiet corner. The smile fell from her face a moment later, though, when the heavy tread of Miss Trude, rolled like thunder over the library entrance.

“I thought I might find you here, my girl,” she virtually spat in Paige’s direction. “Shame on you, with so much to be done.”

“Excuse me—” Belle began, but Trude paid her no mind, riding rough-shod over both her words, and Paige’s obvious fear.

“It’s not like that, Miss Trude,” the girl began, “You always tell me a girl has to keep her promises, and it being Saturday, I—”

“…Dare you quote my own words back at me!” Trude snapped. “Get you home, right now, and see to your family, and your chores.”

Paige practically dropped the book she had been holding ready to read, and fled from the library even before Belle managed to find the words to reassure her, to stand up to that _bully_ of a neighbor.

“And you!” Trude rounded on her. “You just keep your nose out.”

“Now, just a minute!” Belle spluttered with all the indignation of the last few weeks, but Trude ignored even that, and with her nose in the air, turned and stomped out of the library twice as loudly as she had entered.

Belle stood for a moment almost reeling and uncertain what it was she had just witnessed, but the more she thought about it, the more she grew uneasy, and the more her unease grew, the stronger her determination - in spite of Trude’s warning - to find out just what was going on. She nodded and then, before she could second guess herself and change her mind, walked around the circulation desk, and used the computer to look up Paige’s address which she scribbled on a piece of paper that she slipped into her pocket. She grabbed the sign that she had taken off the library doors scant few hours before, and affixed it to the doors again. Then, she took a deep breath, locked up the library, and set off toward Paige Grace’s house. She was determined that she would speak with her parents and get to the bottom of everything once and for all.

It wasn’t far, and after only a few twists and turns she found the street and started down it, looking for the number on the mailbox or the door. When she saw the tumbledown excuse for a dwelling behind the number 117, first she gasped, and then double checked the number she had written for Paige’s home.

The yard was overgrown, wild with weeds and in among them hints of broken pots and other discarded household items; a wooden chair, one of its legs broken and tied together with twine sat propped up against the peeling blue siding that covered the front of the house, and - Belle feared - hid a multitude of sins beneath. There were cracks in one or two of the windows, and all of them were dirty, grimy as though they hadn’t seen a cleaning cloth in years. Several of the shingles had come loose from the roof and were hanging precariously from gutters that seemed stuffed with leaves and debris, and Belle loathed to think what it was like in the rain. In fact, it looked as though the two storey building should have been condemned many years ago.

She was not, generally, one to judge, but Belle couldn’t help but wonder what parent in their right _mind_ would let things get so bad when there were children involved, and with a breath, she set off down the broken path towards the front door, resolute in her intent to discover Paige’s sorry situation, and hopefully, to help.

Stopping on the porch that was broken underfoot, she raised her hand and knocked.


	44. The Painful Truth

For a long time after she knocked there was nothing. Not a sound. So she knocked again, and pushed closer to the door, straining her ears to hear. Eventually she heard it, the faint rustling sound of movement, and then the shuffle of feet through what sounded like autumn leaves - and made her frown - came closer to the door.

“We don’t need anything,” a familiar voice called from within. “We’re fine. Please go away.”

“Paige?” Belle said, despite the familiarity, unable to believe it was the same honest, helpful and hard working girl that she saw three times a week at the library, who now spoke to her. “Paige, it’s me, Belle. Please open the d—”

The door flew open, but only just enough to squeeze Paige between it and the wooden door frame, obstructing Belle’s view of the home within.

“You have to go,” Paige hissed. “You can’t _be_ here. Please go away.”

Belle shook her head. “Listen, Paige, there’s obviously something going on here, and… and I want to help, but I can’t do that unless you let me inside. Let me talk to your parents.”

“No.”

“I don’t mean any harm, I just want to make sure that everything is all right,” Belle persisted, calmly and gently, trying to reach beneath the hard shell that Paige seemed to have donned since coming home, to the girl _she_ knew within.

“That’s what _everyone_ says,” Paige answered, sounding bitter, almost hateful, “but they’re liars. They only want to tear us apart and say it’s for my ‘own good’ like they did with my father.”

Belle frowned at the mention of her father. It was the first time she had ever mentioned him and although Belle wanted to follow up on the hints that Paige had given, Belle didn’t want to lose the push, the momentum that might allow her to get inside of the house.

“Paige,” she said softly, “I don’t know what happened in your past, but have you _ever_ known me to be anything other than honest with you? Ever?”

Paige shuffled from foot to foot, as if weighing the truth of Belle’s words, until, with a long, slow sigh, as if the weight of the world was about to settle on her shoulders, Paige pulled the door open and stepped back.

If the outside of the house was bad, the inside was worse. Peeling wallpaper, chipping paint, and strewn along the length of the hallway in which Paige stood, was what looked to be months, even years, worth of mail. The house smelled… musty, damp and held an underlying sweetness that Belle almost recognized but couldn’t quite put her finger on.

“Oh, Paige,” she said softly and reached out for the girl, but Paige flinched and pulled back.

“Now you know,” she said petulantly, hanging her head.

“No, Paige, no,” Belle said tenderly, “This is _not_ your fault. There’s something very wrong here, and I want you to let me help. Where’s your mother?”

Paige gestured along the hallway, past the stairs to a room on the right hand side. “We don’t use the upstairs,” she said. “Mama can’t use them, see?”

Belle frowned, beginning to draw a picture in her mind, and not liking what she was imagining. She pushed past Paige and gently as she could, and went to the door the girl had indicated, and then knocked. There was a shuffle from within, and then a slurred voice called out, “Come in.”

Belle grasped the handle and opened the door, and when she did, she had to fight the urge to gag at the heavy, cloying smell of sickness that came from within. Looking past that to the room within, she saw it contained little but a small bed with nightstands, and a chair and table. The heavy curtains were drawn, and the only light came from a bare bulb overhead.

“Missus Grace?” Belle asked.

“Are you…” the woman in the bed asked slowly, as if taking great care to properly pronounce the words. “…from Child Services? From the school?”

The fear in the woman’s voice broke Belle inertia, and she quickly crossed the threshold, and came to the side of the bed on which sat the chair, and lowered herself into it without invitation, taking the woman’s hand in her own. Her flesh was cold and clammy, as unhealthy as the rest of her.

“No, Missus Grace, No, I’m not,” she said. “I’m just Paige’s friend. She comes to work with me in the library some days, and… and I came to see if there is anything I can do. If there’s any way I can help.”

Missus Grace squeezed her hand, hardly tightly at all, but the twitch of her muscles showed Belle the effort she was making, and the expression on her face, all furrowed and creased in worry, and with moisture gathering in her cloudy eyes, Belle’s soft heart twisted painfully in her chest.

“I was diagnosed a while ago now,” Missus Grace said in her slow, halting voice, her speech slurred, though not, Belle knew, from alcohol. “MS, you see. As time went on everything got harder and harder to do. Couldn’t take the stairs, couldn’t do things round the house… couldn’t help Paige…”

One of the tears that had gathered in her eyes escaped onto the woman’s cheek, and Belle fished in her pocket for a clean tissue; mopped her cheek, and gave the cold fingers in her own hand a squeeze of understanding. “Go on,” she encouraged.

“I… I knew I should have called for help,” Missus Grace said softly, the shame in her voice almost too much for Belle to hear, “Asked the school or Child Services or something, but… well… Paige was dead against it, you see.” Belle frowned and she went on to explain, “She thinks they’ll just come and take me away.”

“They took Papa,” Paige said from the doorway, tears falling over _her_ face. “And he never did anything wrong. They took Papa, I couldn’t let them take Mama too.”

Belle held out her free hand in Paige’s direction, and after a little hesitation, Paige came to take it, to _cling_ to it until Belle pulled her in close to rest her on her one knee, cradled in her arm as she explained to them both. “That’s not _all_ they do, Paige,” she said. “Not always.” Paige shook her head, but Belle continued, “They’re there to help… with the cleaning, with cooking… they could even arrange to get your mother a nurse to help her.”

“Listen to her, love,” Missus Grace urged, struggling to sit up. “I can’t help you any more, and you do so much… with the cooking and your school work.” She turned to Belle, and said, “She used to be so much better at keeping the place clean too you know, but… I’m a burden to her now, I know I am.”

“You’re _not_ , Mama. You’re not,” Paige cried out and weeping, all but threw herself onto her mother as she fell back against the pillows. “It’s just that there’s so much, and I’m _so_ tired, and… and lonely… and… and…”

“And afraid?” Belle finished for her, and Paige nodded, unable to speak for the tears, which both of the women shared - her mother holding her as tightly as she could, and Belle, holding on to Missus Grace, an anchor for this broken little family. Then she took a deep breath, to try and pull herself together, deciding then and there that she would do _all_ that she could, clean and cook and repair what she could so that they _could_ ask for the help that Missus Grace so sorely needed.

She took in another deep breath, before she said with as much certainty as she could, “Listen to me, _both_ of you…”


	45. The Graces

Promising to return as soon as she could, and eliciting a promise from Paige that she would help when she _did_ return, Belle retraced her steps to the library, seething inside that no one in the so-called tight-knit community had reached out to help the Graces before now; that no one had even seemed to _know_ and so they had fallen through the cracks. She couldn’t help but find Missus Trude guilty for being in some way complicit, and wondered just how far her influence went. What would she have to gain from keeping them as they were - power over them in some way? But to what end?

She was so lost in her thoughts and trying to make sense of how she might best help in the long term and not just for now that she almost literally ran into Mister Gold. Not looking where she was going, and trying to find the apartment key on her key-chain, she stopped barely short of colliding with his backside as he was bent over slightly, working on something at the lower part of the door.

Belle yelped, and dropped her key-chain, which Mister Gold retrieved for her before straightening up and turning to face her.

“Miss Marchland,” he greeted her, apparently calmly. “I was just working on the door. Seems a little attention was necessary to ensure it closes properly.”

“Well…” Belle took a deeper breath, composing herself, before she said, “Thank you, Mister Gold. I appreciate it.”

“Well, we can’t have just anyone walking up to the apartment without invitation, now, can we?” he said, more a statement than a question, with a raised eyebrow in her direction.

“No, indeed,” she answered, and before she could stop herself, her answer came with an implicit reference to the previous evening, when he had walked up on her as she had been trying on Maggie’s dress. “There’s no telling in what state they might discover me.”

She blushed as she realized what she’d said, but Gold, as gentlemanly as ever, said nothing but, “Don’t worry, I’ll be out of your hair before too long.”

Without warning, his mild mannered reasonableness, and the way he seemed absolutely unaffected by what happened between them at the Miner’s Day festival more than irritated her, and that, coupled with the memory of his behavior at the shop on the occasion she had spoken of her concern for Paige, made her speak first and consider the consequences of what she had said later.

“What didn’t you tell me what was happening with Paige!” she snapped.

He frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

“Paige… Grace,” she clarified, and dismissed his odd reaction to the way she spoke the girl’s surname. “The girl that helps me in the library?”

“Yes, I know the girl to whom you refer,” he said. “However, I fail to see what I should have told yo—”

“Oh, drop it, Gold!” she scoffed. “You _knew_ , and you said nothing. That poor girl has been… maid and… nurse, and… who knows _what_ else besides. I could have _done_ something, could have helped. Instead you pretended there was nothing wrong, and let it all continue. And for what!”

“Be… very careful, Miss Marchland,” Gold warned, his voice low and dangerous in a way that vibrated through the whole of her and sparked an ache low down and in an entirely inappropriate way, given the topic of their disagreement. “You know very little of which you speak, and none of the harm your interference could—”

“Interference?” Belle’s voice was high in pitch and with incredulity. “Only _you_ could think of offering help as interference. You are _unbelievable_ , you know that?”

“No, Miss Marchland,” he said, exaggerated patience in his voice that only served to further irritate her. “I am a man that simply knows how, and when to best take sides.”

“Take _sides?_ ” she threw up her hands along with the tone of her voice, “This is a child’s _life_ we’re talking about, not some meaningless argument about… parking restrictions on Main Street.”

“Indeed,” he agreed. “Which is _exactly_ why I have acted as I have.”

“Done _nothing_ , you mean,” she spat. “At least you didn’t try to deny you knew what’s going on, at least I’ll give you _that_.” She huffed as he said nothing, and then she began to step forward, to push past him as she added curtly, “Excuse me, I have cleaning to do.”

He caught her by the elbow as she did, and stepping closer, momentarily held her in place against the open door.

“Everything comes with a price, Miss Marchland,” he half growled, half purred almost into her ear. “So you need to be _very_ sure how much you’re willing to pay.”

She fell into the intensity of his gaze and was held there for several moments. The words were familiar to her somehow, and yet were not quite right, and for a second time, his nearness and his quiet menace sent a thrill of danger to warm her core. Then as angry at herself for allowing such feeling to cloud her intention to do what she _knew_ was right, as she was at him for saying nothing when first she came to him with her concerns, she snatched her arm from his grasp, pushed past him and up the stairs to gather her cleaning supplies.

As foolish as it made her feel, Belle left through the library so as to avoid another confrontation with Mister Gold, and quickly made her way back to Paige’s house. Paige was waiting by the door when she returned, almost wringing her hands with such a stricken look on her face that Belle wanted nothing more than to wrap her in a tight hug and never let go, instead of the gentle embrace she gave her.

“All right then,” she said quietly as she released Paige and stepped back a little bit. “Let’s get started, shall we?” She held out a pair of rubber gloves and a large trash bag in the girl’s direction and instructed her to pick up all the papers and the mail from the hallway and gather the trash from any other room in the house where things had gotten away from her, and with a smile added, “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”

Belle went to work with an almost practiced air, beginning with the dishes that were piled in the sink and on the counter top, setting them to drain while she cleaned the stove-top, kitchen table and the cupboard doors. Next she dried and put away the now clean crockery and cutlery, making space for her to tackle the job of cleaning out the refrigerator. She was surprised to find _some_ unspoiled food remaining in the fridge, but there were also plates of covered, left over food, remnants of previous meals, that were covered in plastic wrap and were of highly dubious quality. She decided it was best to dispose of it all, and wash the plates thoroughly before returning her attention to the fridge itself, and cleaned and organized everything within.

Next, she swept and dusted, and mopped, spending a good deal of time inside the pantry, to make sure that nothing inside was spoiled, but it contained only non perishable goods; tins of soup, and beans, and airtight containers of pasta and rice.

When Paige came in to tell her she had finished with her assigned task, Belle gave her a duster, and a damp cloth, and told her to go around the downstairs rooms to clean and dust all the surfaces, and in the meanwhile, she swept and mopped the hallway, and scrubbed the bathroom until everything was almost shining.

She had no idea how long the two of them worked together to clean the house but as late afternoon began to turn toward evening, there remained only one room. Her mother’s bedroom.

“Why don’t you run up to Granny’s and get a tub of her soup and some grilled cheese sandwiches? There’s money in my wallet,” she suggested to Paige, as she searched in the linen closet and found clean sheets and blankets, and some clean towels for the bathroom. Paige seemed relieved at the suggestion, and Belle ruffled her hair a little and gave her a gentle push toward the kitchen, where she’d left her purse.

She watched after her for a moment before she went and knocked on the door.

“I feel so bad that you’ve both been working so hard while I do nothing but lie here,” Missus Grace said, by way of greeting.

Belle smiled and shook her head. “No need. It’s my pleasure to help,” she said.

She set the new bedclothes down on the trunk at the foot of the bed, and then, for just a moment perched on the edge of the chair. “Missus Grace,” she began, but the woman waved a trembling hand in her direction.

“Please, call me Chloe,” she said. “I don’t think we need to be so formal after all of this.”

“Then you must call me Belle,” she said, and Chloe smiled, but it was a sad kind of smile.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to thank you enough,” Chloe said and then more sadly, “I suppose you’re going to _have_ to involve the authorities now… it’s just that Paige is so worried, and I’m all she has and—”

She stopped as Belle reached out and took her hand.

“Missus Grace… Chloe,” she said correcting herself at once. “It would be better, yes, both for you and for Paige if Social Services knew what you were going through, but it doesn’t necessarily mean they’re going to swoop in, and take either of you away from each other. These days they try to keep people together, and teach you to be a little bit self reliant, provide help for the things you can’t do for yourself, and find you _medical_ treatment, which might make things easier for you to do some of the things you can’t right now, because of your illness.”

Chloe seemed to be truly listening to Belle’s explanation, then with a sigh said, “I only want what’s best for Paige.”

“I know that,” Belle said. “That’s why I’m willing to help as best as I can until you can make the best decisions for _yourself_ and not have others tell you what to do all the time.” She paused for only a moment before she said, “I dare say that neighbor of yours has been filling Paige’s head with all kinds of horror stories about what would happen if anyone found out.”

“Not just Paige,” Chloe said, with a good deal of shame in her voice.

Belle tried not to let her expression show just what she thought of that, or now of the woman in question. Instead, in an attempt to lighten the conversation, not to mention to facilitate being able to change the woman’s bedclothes, she said, “How about I go and run you a nice warm bath? I can help you into the bathroom, and let you soak for a while, then if you like, I’ll come and wash your hair for you.”

“You’d… you’d do that?” Chloe asked, and Belle heard the way her voice choked as she spoke.

“Of course,” she said. “I want _you_ to be comfortable and happy as well as Paige.”

She had to blink away her own tears as Chloe’s eyes filled with gratitude for her concern and her compassion. She squeezed the other woman’s hand before getting up from the chair and going to run the bath, putting in bath salts which she hoped would help to soothe her. Not too long afterwards, she had settled Chloe into the tub and went back into the bedroom to strip the bed, turn the mattress and put on the clean bedclothes and blankets.

By the time Paige returned with the food, Belle had settled Chloe into an oversized arm chair, which she had brought in from the living area, propped cushions around her, and covered her knees with a blanket to keep her comfortable. She had drawn the small table closer to Missus Grace’s chair, and brought in another dining chair from the kitchen, like the one that was already in the room, so that the three of them could share the meal, and some good, wholesome, and companionable conversation.

It was nearing dark by the time Belle left, admonishing Paige to make sure that _she_ went to her own bed that night, and not to drift in slumber in a chair in her mother’s room.

“Your mother will be fine,” she said, “so I want you to promise me that _you_ will sleep. You won’t be able to help _anyone_ if you’re too tired to think.”

Instead of a promise, Paige threw her arms around Belle and held her tightly. “I wish I’d trusted you better; told you sooner,” she said.

“So do I,” Belle murmured, placing a tender kiss on the top of her head, “but I know now, and I’m going to help make sure that everything works out, and will be all right.” Paige sighed, still holding tightly to Belle, and her heart lurched as she thought she heard Paige whisper, “I wish Papa were here.” There was little she could say to that, and so instead she simply gave the girl another squeeze.

Bone weary and heart sore, Belle made her way homeward to take a hot, deep bubble bath of her own, taking the long way around so that she could first clear her head. That path took her past Gold’s shop, and in the gathering night she could see the light spilling out onto the sidewalk from within. She wasn’t all that surprised to see it, as she knew Gold often kept late hours, but as she drew level with the pawn shop, and glanced in through the window, she was surprised to see Jefferson’s tall frame standing toe to toe with Gold. She slowed her steps, and eventually halted altogether, and watched the two of them as they seemed locked into what looked to be a somewhat heated discussion. Fingers poked and pointed, arms flew in grand gestures, and she could almost _feel_ the atmosphere seeping out through the brick and glass of the shop front.

The sign on the door read, ‘closed’ but she couldn’t help but wonder if she should go inside and try to mitigate whatever had come between two whom she knew to be as close as Jefferson and Gold. Before she could act upon her thought, Jefferson turned and stormed toward, and then through the door, and she had to almost jump aside as he ploughed on without pause.

“Jefferson…!” she called after him, but he did not even appear to have heard her, let alone to react to the sound of his name.


	46. The Sword of Damocles

Even though Belle knew she should feel good for what she had done for Chloe and Paige, and though she knew that things were going much better for them now that they had some help, in the days and weeks that followed, Belle felt a sense of foreboding that seemed to hang over her, like a pendulum ready to swing, or a shoe waiting to drop.

It was a heavy weight to carry, day in, day out, and it made her tired - weary. She kept herself to the library in the daytime, and in the evenings she stayed home with her books and her tea. She was relaxing. She didn’t _need_ to be out gallivanting all night long, and certainly not painting the town Rabbit Hole Red.

Or so she told herself…

She sighed and walked to the window from which she could see the road that stretched away opposite the Library, looking to see if the tell-tale light was spilling from the pawn shop window. The pavement, still damp from the earlier rain sparkled with the warmth of yellow light that danced in mockery of her reticence to contact Mister Gold. Things had been… awkward, at best, since the argument they’d had the day after the Miner’s Day Festival, and she hated it. Still, she couldn’t avoid him forever, it was almost time to pay the rent, and if she knew one thing about Mister Gold that _no one_ would dispute, it was that he was a stickler for getting his rent payments on time.

With another sigh she turned and leaned against the wall by the window, trying to convince herself that it was ridiculous, but in the end, all she ended up doing was making herself feel more depressed. Head hanging, she walked to the kitchen, and began to fill the kettle to make some fresh tea, but something stopped her.

This was _not_ who she was. She was a woman who could stand up for herself; could move to a new town and _get_ what she wanted. She was a woman who saw what was wrong and made things right, and that was damn well what she was going to do!

…starting tomorrow.

Tonight she needed respite. Tonight she needed something that would take her out of these four walls, would take her mind off of all the strange dreams and feelings that she couldn’t control; that would stop her from wondering just who Trude was, and why she’d got it in for Paige and wanted to keep her trapped in ignorance and squalor. She needed to get out of her head and find her heart again.

Before she could second guess herself, she set the kettle down, turned off the faucet, grabbed her coat and keys, and walked out of the door. She would take a walk. She would clear her head with a walk through Storybrooke and to the town line, to remind herself why she had fallen in love with the place from the very beginning.

Storybrooke after the rain was chilly, but it was a fresh kind of chill, the kind that nipped and enlivened and encouraged as one walked in it. As Belle walked she realized how much she had missed by making a recluse of herself, and all for what…? A weird evening, a foolish argument, and a bitter and twisted old woman. She let out a cleansing breath of laughter.

Her pace quickened a little as she left the lights of the town behind and walked along more rural roads, past the cemetery and out onto the road that cut through the woodland. She wasn’t afraid of the dark, but there was no telling when she might encounter a car coming along, and her overcoat wasn’t exactly reflective. Still, she was determined to reach the town line.

A smile came to her face when she spotted _The Bend_ ahead; her tree would be nearby and beyond it, the town line not too much further out, but she slowed her steps and creased her face in a frown not too much afterwards. The silhouette of her tree was all wrong. It stood before her all misshapen, as though fungus had grown in nodules to stifle it from the air. Growing closer still she could see that they weren’t growths at all but book and packages and bags, which when she looked inside contained _more_ books!

She hurried to the tree and began untying all of them. Some of the books were damaged beyond repair, water damage, the effects of wind and weather, but the others… If she took them back to the library, she might be able to salvage them. She smiled again, bordering on laughing and for a moment forgot that she was angry, and _why_ she was angry, and all but threw her arms around the book tree. Then, practical as ever, she reached into the pocket of her coat and drew out the collapsible shopping bag she carried everywhere with her, opened it up and filled it to the brim with the books she thought she could save. This definitely had to be Hunter’s doing, and she was going to thank him personally.

The weather, and temperature, by the docks was rather less clement than in town and Belle pulled the coat more tightly around herself as she waited in a shadowy corner of the cannery grounds. It reminded her of old times, some would say better times, but Belle wasn’t so sure. In fact now that she was waiting for him, she wasn’t at all sure that it was sensible to meet him after all.

She had almost talked herself out of it when the rumble of the big rig’s engine trembled through the packed dirt of the parking lot and up into her feet, like the growl of some great dragon, waiting to devour her whole. The analogue didn’t fill her with confidence. Remaining in the shadows she watched as Hunter parked the truck and then jumped down without setting a foot on the steps. She took a deep breath as he went inside to get the foreman and the fork lift so that he could unload.

She waited until he was done, but as he drove the last of the pallets into the warehouse, Belle slipped from the shadows, and skittered across the better lit center of the yard like a rat hurrying to avoid detection until she reached the lee of the truck, then she stopped a little way behind the driver’s door.

He saw her as soon as he rounded the truck after closing the back doors.

“Belle!” he called out and the delight in his voice almost made her feel bad for the was she had been angry with him when they met in Boston. He leaned down before she could move away and wrapped his arms around her to hold her in a tight embrace until she pushed at him, for quite some time, and then he moved away. “My Belle?”

She scowled at that, but forced herself to remember her purpose.

“I came to say ‘thank you’,” she said.

“For what, I…” he trailed off as though in realization and then said, “Oh, the books on the tree. Yes?”

“Yes,” she confirmed.

“You’re welcome,” he said, and reached out toward her cheek, where a strand of hair had blown loose from it binding, but she ducked away. He had no right to touch her in that way. One thing for her to do the polite thing and thank him for bringing all the books, but quite another to allow him to believe that she had forgiven him.

Hunter sighed, and Belle frowned, and then in a small and contrite voice, he confessed, “This is my last run.” He shook his head. “You will not have to worry about me bothering you any more.”

“What do you mean, your last—?”

His second sigh stopped her words before she could complete the question. “My bosses. They found me carrying… other things than their cargo inside my truck,” he said then added quickly, “Nothing bad, I swear it, but… rules are rules, and…” another sigh, “for you I might have fought, brought more books, but… instead I resigned before I could be fired, and they were going to fire me.”

“What?” she said, before her brain processed the meaning, and then find another spark of anger in his mention of the books he smuggled for her. “Oh, no. Wait a minute. You are _not_ putting this on me!”

“No, no, of course not, my Belle, I just…” He looked down at his hands, seemed to be examining his fingernails, though she could barely see through the mist of new anger that whirled almost purple in front of her eyes. Emotional blackmail, claiming her as his… no. No it would not do. “…I want you to know that… well… above…” he shrugged, “Well… I would have done anything for you.”

“Including lie, and cheat, and goodness knows what else?” the words left her lips before she could stop them, though she didn’t really want to. She just didn’t want to be _cruel_. If truth be told, she did feel somehow responsible for his plight, even though it hadn’t been her books that had been his contraband this time.

The thought of that only made her more angry, not less, learning now that in spite of his words to the contrary mere seconds ago, she was little better, to him, than all his other conquests - and she had to believe there were more than just the mother of his child, because there had been _many_ boxes on those shelves in the shed at his garden plot.

“Perhaps it is best we say goodbye, if that is how you feel,” he said calmly.

“Oh, that is how I feel,” she Belle said coldly, and tucked her hands beneath her armpits, not because she was cold, rather, to stop herself from lashing out and slapping the calm and sorrowful expression from his face. “I should go.”

“I will drive you,” he told her

Inside she growled a low, panther like rumble at the thought that he would try and tell her that she would comply with his wishes, though she merely shook her head and said curtly, “I’ll make my own way, thank you.”


	47. A Knowing Heart

Belle’s steps, as she walked from the Cannery yard, were steady, dignified and unhurried, but as she got further away, as everything Hunter had said to her hit her, mingled like cold molasses with everything she already knew and everything she felt, the heat of tears began to sting her eyes.

She had _asked_ him to do this, to risk his job, his lifestyle on carrying books that she could have just as easily have brought to Storybrooke herself. In effect she had exploited his willingness to help and whether or not it was something he had been doing for a longer time, for other people was irrelevant to her own involvement in it. She saw herself, in short, as a terrible person, and the weight of feeling that way brought her tears cascading freely over her cheeks.

How could she have been so selfish? Such a monster, imposing her will on someone else, and hadn’t she done the same thing with the Graces?

The thought of Paige, and her poor mother, Chloe, made the tears come faster, and made steps turn from hurried walking to a full out run, blinded by tears, and acting only on instinct, with her heart, she ran all the way back to the center of town, and to the patch of pavement, still glowing - warmly inviting - promising comfort.

If she had stopped to read the sign on the door, she would have seen it read, ‘closed’, but she did not stop. She pushed open the door, the tinkle of the bell over hear head sounding loud in the hushed, almost sanctuary-like quiet of the pawn shop.

Gold was at the counter, behind it as always, studying his ledgers, but he looked up at the sound of the melodic, metallic ring, accompanying her stifled distress.

He did not miss it though, and came around the counter with a frown on his face. She stopped in the middle of the shop and, reaching her, took her gently by the upper arms, and looked into her eyes with earnest concern in his own.

“Belle,” he said softly. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

All at once the deep sense of belonging, of familiarity swept over her, and it did nothing to ease her distress. Quite the opposite. In the full face of his concern her tears fell more swiftly, and for a moment, she didn’t resist as he drew her into a gentle embrace. The feelings intensified, the same strange pull as the night of the festival, only muted somehow, and feeling awkward she pulled away, wiping a hand across her tear stained cheek.

Words bubbled up from deep inside the feelings and the awareness of what felt like memories, but could not have been, because… “I’m sorry,” she said, “but… do I know you?”

Gold frowned, “Are you certain you didn’t suffer some kind of blow to the head because—”

“I… I don’t mean now,” the words slipped from Belle’s lips again in a jumbled rush before she could stop them. “Before… before all this. Did we meet before? Do I _know_ you?”

Gold’s expression became serious as he regarded her, as if he were trying to read her, everything about her, her every _thought_. Then he said quietly, “No. But you will.”

The intensity she saw in his eyes held her for a moment, for several, before in a rush, as if a bubble that had formed around the two of them, to hold out reality, had suddenly burst, she returned to her full senses with a blink, and took a step back, feeling uncomfortable.

“What… what kind of answer is that?” she scoffed.

Matching her mood, almost as a mirror, Gold answered, “Not the one you were looking for, it seems.”

“Well, really—” she began, but he cut her off, the awkwardness between them increasing.

“What am I to think?” he asked. “You come bursting into my shop, which, by the way, is closed, all but sobbing into your sleeve, and then ask the most bizarre of questions without ever answering my own enquiry.”

“I was _not_ ‘sobbing into my sleeve.’” Belle folded her arms across her chest in a defensive fashion, and tried to harden her gaze, but the quivering of her lower lip did not speak to resilience and determination at all, rather it proved Gold’s point about her emotional state. “I was upset,” she conceded, “yes. I had just heard a somewhat upsetting piece of news.”

“I see,” he said, mild and non committal.

“No, really you don’t,” she insisted. “Since it has nothing to do with you.”

“Miss Marchland, if it is nothing to do with me, then why come to me at all?” he pressed, “The library isn’t far from here after all.”

His words scratched at the wound as yet unhealed, and she all but growled, “You really _are_ a piece of work, aren’t you?”

“Guilty as charged,” he interjected as she took a breath to continue.

“I thought you might be able to _help_ , that’s all.” She said.

“Help?” he stepped back a little, to lean with an air of nonchalance against one of the glass display cabinets.

“Yes,” she said bluntly. “You must know an attorney that could take a case of workplace intimidation, find a way to… to avoid the employee having to resign rather than get fired?”

“So you _are_ in trouble,” Gold said briskly, and reached into his jacket pocket for his cell phone. “What has Regina done now?”

“What?” Belle frowned in confusion for a second before she said, “Oh, no. No, it isn’t me. It’s about Hunter.”

Gold’s hand faltered, half way to opening up his phone. “Hunter Guest?” he asked incredulously, adding after in an almost petulant mutter, “Well it would appear that I had falsely hoped that we had seen the last of him.”

“Gold, didn’t you _hear_ me?” she appealed, “He’s losing his job.”

“And that has what to do with me, precisely?”

“I told you, I thought you could help, perhaps find him an attorney or… or something. There has to be _something_ could be done to find a way for him to keep his livelihood.”

“Explain to me, Belle,” Gold began, “Miss Marchland, why it is that you feel it your responsibility to bail this… no good philanderer out of the trouble for which he has no one else to blame but himself?”

“You don’t know that,” Belle said, but even to her own ears she sounded less than convincing.

“I know the type, Miss Marchland, sadly, and I warned you about him a long time ago.” Gold shook his head, “No. Whatever fate has dealt to Mister Hunter, I’m afraid I can’t help.”

“Can’t or won’t?” Belle challenged, but he did nothing other than to meet her eyes in a knowing stare that somehow halted her anger in its tracks, though didn’t calm it completely. “Well,” she said. “I’m sorry to have troubled you.”

Without looking back, or uttering another word, she turned and left the pawn shop and headed back to her apartment, vowing never to bother Mister Gold again.


	48. You Started All This...

Belle was determined not to allow recent events to make a recluse of her. Storybrooke was her home and she would treat it that way, and the first order of business was to make sure that she had more time to spend not only being a part of it, but being out and about in it. She checked and double checked the library’s operating budget and as she had hoped there would be, there was sufficient to be able to employ a part time library assistant.

As much as she loved the library, it felt good not to be locked away every waking hour, and so she adopted a ritual of sorts, a routine for her days off, and her afternoons. After briefing Ashley, she would take a walk. Sometimes she would walk in the park, sometimes along one of the trails in the woods surrounding Storybrooke, and once a week she would take the longer walk out to The Bend.

She didn’t expect to see any further communication from Hunter, and in that regard was not disappointed, but it made her sad that The Tree at the Bend was no longer randomly festooned with books or notes, or little gifts.

She sighed as she turned and walked a little way down the track toward where she knew there was a hidden sheep farm, and where, in the spring, she had found a whole carpet of flowers, but where now the ground was bare and the leaves on the trees were beginning to turn toward shades of yellows and browns that spoke of the change in the season. It was also where Gold had interrupted her from making a _huge_ mistake, she reminded herself.

She let out another sigh then. What was she to do about Mister Gold?

Ever since the evening when she had gone to the cannery to thank Hunter for the books; ever since the pawn shop owner had acted as though they were more to each other than they were, with his earnest touches, his penetrating gaze, and his outright _refusal_ to help Hunter in any way, she had been avoiding the man at best, and pointedly ignoring him at worst. Yet whenever they had cause to speak, to interact, even to be in Granny’s diner at the same time, at opposite ends of the room, her heart still skipped, her stomach still flipped and her eyes sought him out in his immaculate suits and quickened her already unsteady breathing. She shook her head at herself. She was behaving like a schoolgirl with a crush, but… no. It was different than that, reminding her of the nonsensical exchange in his shop on that evening in question.

_“I’m sorry,” she said, “but… do I know you?”_

_“No. But you will,” he said quietly._

Oh, she knew there had been words in between, the usual sarcasm on Gold’s part, but those had seemed to fade to insignificance in the mystery, the _promise_ in Gold’s answer to her confused question.

She could not explain it, and it did her no good now to stand around and try to make sense of something that had none. With a final sigh, she drew herself up straight and set her steps back toward Storybrooke.

She became so lost in her thoughts that, as she approached the library, she almost walk into the object of her thoughts, and not only that, but the small crowd of people that were with and behind him.

“Mister Gold,” she said in surprise, blinking to ensure that she was not dreaming.

“Miss Marchland,” he greeted her with almost a smile on his face. “We were hoping to find you.”

“Me?” she asked, and looking around at the faces in the small crowd, added, “We…?”

She saw Leroy and his friends, David, Marco, Archie, and Maggie, among the many other faces she recognized. Even Jefferson was with them, although he hung back a little from the crowd.

“Yes,” Gold confirmed, “since you have been instrumental in this initiative, I’m sure that you might like to see it through?”

“See it…” she frowned, “I’m sorry, I think I’m missing something.”

“The Graces,” Leroy said, and held up the tools he carried in his hands. “Plenty to keep us all busy, Sister.”

Belle looked from one to the next of all the people gathered there in the street, her eyes falling last on Gold, who gave her the barest hint of a smile, but whose eyes were full of an almost mischievous sparkle.

“Care to join us, Miss Marchland?” he said.

She smiled broadly, and it took all of her willpower not to turn and link her arm with Mister Gold’s, she was so genuinely happy that at last the town of Storybrooke was coming to the aid of one of their own; one that had _somehow_ slipped through the net.

“I’d be delighted,” she answered instead.

The walk to Paige and Chloe’s house wasn’t too far from the center of town and by the time the crowd of people arrived, the sound of their coming had arrived before them, and Paige was standing in the yard, arms crossed and with a frown on her face. When she saw Belle, however, the frown disappeared, and she rushed to embrace her, looking up at Mister Gold as she pulled back, but did not leave Belle’s arms.

“You brought _all_ these people to help?” she asked, a look of wonder on her face.

“Indeed, Miss Grace,” Gold answered softly. “We want to set _everything_ to rights now, don’t we?”

Belle wondered at the slight stress on the word ‘everything’ and felt the now familiar tingle of not quite knowing everything that was going on in Storybrooke, but… what was she missing? She had no more time to think about it however, because Paige tugged on her hand.

“Mama will be so happy to know you’re all here,” she said, mostly to Belle, but including Mister Gold as well.

“We’ll have the work done in no time!” Leroy answered, and then to his friends said, “C’mon boys, lets have no more lallygagging,” and to a man, every one of them moved forward, as if they already knew exactly what they were going to do.

Belle followed Paige inside after excusing herself from Gold and the others, and was happy to see that Chloe was up and, while not quite ‘about’ was in the sitting room and not the bedroom.

“I’m glad to see you’re feeling stronger,” she said, and Chloe reached to take her hand.

“Thanks to _you_ , Belle,” she said, then added, “and Mister Gold, of course.”

“I had no idea,” Belle said, shaking her head.

“Oh, yes,” Chloe said. “Came to visit, and asked for a list of all the things that needed to be repaired around the house. I thought at first…” she stopped, then started again, “Well, he has a reputation, you know, for… deals and making demands of people.”

“But he didn’t?”

“Not a bit of it,” Chloe confirmed, “said that it was his pleasure to arrange it all, and then took the list, even added some things I hadn’t even thought of.”

“Oh?”

Chloe nodded, “Said that since we needed new stairs anyway, he’d be sure to have one of those lift things installed too, so that we can use the upstairs again.”

She seemed so excited, and so positive that it brought tears to Belle’s eyes. Perhaps this would help her to turn a corner, at least mentally, if not physically.

“Well,” Belle squeezed her hand. “I should go and see how I can help. Perhaps the windows, because they’re not going to clean themselves.” Then she jumped, as a sound of breaking glass sounded loudly from the back of the house. “Or… not.”

Chloe chuckled, and Belle couldn’t have been happier to hear the sound.

After sharing tea with Chloe, Belle returned to the yard in search of Mister Gold. She found him around the side of the house, supervising a small group of children who were planting flowers and low growing foliage in the newly dug beds. Paige was among them, and they were all working together to make the yard look more like a garden than an abandoned dumping ground.

She stood at the corner of the house, just watching. He was in his shirt sleeves, which were rolled to the elbow, crouching from time to time to help one of the younger children succeed in their effort to settle the plants into the ground. He was so patient with them and so gentle. So unlike the reputation he had with the adults in Storybrooke, and as such she had never seen this side of him before, the paternal side. Hard on the heels of that realization came the thought that he must have made a wonderful father, and with it came a lurch as her heart and stomach switched places.

“You can talk to him, you know?” The voice at her side startled her, and she looked down to see Paige staring up at her with a knowing twinkle in her young eyes. “I know you like him.”

“Paige!” Belle yelped, and then composing herself said, “How I feel about Mister Gold doesn’t matter just now. What matters is all of this.” She gestured around herself. “You’ll finally have a house where you can be safe and warm, and comfortable no matter _where_ you are in it.”

“And I’m happy for that,” Paige said, “But I want _you_ to be happy as well. This is happening because of you.”

“Oh, Paige,” Belle answered, gently cupping the girl’s cheek in the palm of her hand. “I _am_ happy.”

“But you’re lonely,” Paige said. “I can tell, and so is Mister Gold.” Belle blinked at Paige then, at the far too grown up insights the child had into adult emotions simply from looking at them. “I _know_ people say bad things about him all the time, but he can’t be _all_ that horrible, can he, if he arranged all this?”

Belle sighed. “No,” she said, “No, I supposed you’re right, but—”

Paige shook her head, cutting off her words. “No buts,” she said, “One time I overheard someone saying that you can’t judge a person until you truly know them…”

Belle took a sharp breath as Paige spoke the words, and looking over at Gold again, she felt a strong but gentle heat begin to settle into the very depth of her, as if the words meant something, her thoughts and the feelings tuning out Paige’s rambling about traditions and bonfires. It was still not quite right, the phrase, but it was familiar enough to be like a welcome ache.

Gold glanced over at her then, and offered up a warm and gentle, genuine smile. Belle felt herself blush, and looked away, out over the top of the newly erected picket fence. She saw Jefferson then, once more apart from the group, like a visitor who had overstayed his welcome.

He caught her gaze, a knowing expression on his face, and tipped an imaginary hat.


End file.
